Unwritten Pages
by Rejar
Summary: What does one do when lost in time? Catapulted into a different century and without hope of ever returning home, Miranda struggles to adapt, to live, to start anew. Even if it means going against everything she has been taught.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

2010. August, 28th

It was going to rain very soon. The sky was darkened by gray clouds, which grew even darker in the distance. Miranda fished her red umbrella out of her shoulder bag and opened it.

She let a car pass and crossed the street. The first few raindrops hit her umbrella and slid down. Only now did the crowd start to search for their own ones. Some just put their hood on and went their way, relaxed as ever. Others cursed and quickened their steps. In a matter of seconds a colorful sea of umbrellas blossomed out and rushed to their destination, wherever that may be. A man hit her in his hurry to get out of the cold and apologized hastily. Miranda dismissed it, smiled broadly and told him that it was okay. He frowned slightly at the cheerful aura she was emitting but went along anyway. Nothing could get her out of her good mood now, not even the already pouring rain - as long as she stayed dry. She had just gotten her most treasured item back, repaired and fully operative. Her Mp3-Player.

Why the hell she had wanted to listen to music while brushing her teeth, she did not know, but she did. After panicking and weeping for some time, because it had been a brand-new model and, more important, a gift from a good friend, she decided to send it to a technician and let it be repaired. Letting the thing fall into the sink was one of the most stupidest things she had ever done but alas, there was a happy ending to the story now. If an expensive ending.

Because of that she really wanted to practically bounce all the way home. She learned her lesson and would never try such nonsense again, hopefully. Her fingers raced across the surface and buttons, checking if the few songs she had on it worked fine and without problems. When she was certain of that, she stuffed it back into her back and adjusted her umbrella to get a better shield against the rain.

There was no strong wind but she had to wonder about how much was pouring down from the skies right now. Wasn't London known for its fog and relatively dry weather rather than this Amazonas-like rain? _But then again, we're nearing September, _she sighed mentally.

Miranda couldn't see far nor could she hear a lot, partly because she was distracted with trying to avoid puddles in order not to get wet, partly because of the rain that drowned every sound and made looking farther than five feet impossible. Thus she never saw the man coming when she turned around the corner. She felt him rather, because he ran into her at full speed and knocked her over.

Somehow she had managed to not let her umbrella slip out of her hand. She heard him curse and guessed that he must have fallen down, too. With the force he had run into her he must have been too fast to stop himself from falling. At the very least, justice was done, she thought. But fate still seemed to hate her. Mind you, she had just tried to _not _get wet. At least she wasn't the only one which had to endure the feeling of drenched clothing, most likely mixed with mud, on her skin.

"You just ruined my day..." Miranda groaned and tried to stand up. Her hand slid over something and just as that had happened, everything went white before her eyes. The man cried out, but she couldn't understand his words. She felt his hands around her wrists one moment, then they seemed to disappear, not because he let go, but because... _she _disappeared. She gasped, feeling herself weakening with every second, feeling helpless. The sound of raindrops hitting the ground disappeared slowly, just like the words the man yelled. Silence greeted her and she seemed trapped in Nothingness.

Everything around her was white. She did not even know whether she was standing or floating in the air, did not know how far this room went. She knew that she was breathing heavily, because her lungs didn't get the the oxygen they needed, but she couldn't hear it. She couldn't even _feel_ breathing in and out; a great weight pressed down on her. God knows how long she stayed like that, looking around, frantically trying to find out what happened to her. Sometimes a flash of numbers, symbols, pictures - they transformed in less than a second - could be seen.

Then white became black and she lay on the ground, unconscious.

* * *

1485. August, 28th

The feeling of warm and solid stone beneath her face was the first thing she registered when her mind cleared and she regained consciousness. Slowly she opened her eyes and blinked. Then she sat up and looked around. She seemed to be in some kind of alley, the walls were maybe three feet apart and made of dark red brick. As she looked up, warm rays of sunshine shone upon her, the sky was clear and blue.

Wait a moment! He wouldn't leave her in that state for hours, would he?

What a stupid thing to think. He _did _already leave her. How considerate of him to move her out of sight, though, she thought sarcastic. In your typical alley, where junkies and bums had their homes.

Miranda searched her bag but nothing seemed to miss, even her umbrella was next to her on the ground, still dripping wet, just like her.

After checking herself for injuries and searching her belongings a second time, she sighed, picked up the umbrella, and stood up. What a sight she gave! Strange that her clothing hadn't dried over night, although she could have been lying in a puddle most of the time, which would explain everything on the other hand. It had rained a lot after all.

Moving towards the direction of the sun, Miranda quickly found herself on some kind of plaza, just not the kind one would find in London: no tourists or cars passing by an enormous church or some ruins or asking how to get to Sherlock Holmes' home; no crowded boutiques and no teenagers sitting around, talking and laughing while showing off the newest trends in fashion. People of varying culture would be hurrying to get somewhere, cursing in their native language that they were too late.

This plaza is filled with women wearing long dresses, some revealing a lot of cleavage, others corded up, moving gracefully; and men with boots that reached their knees and embroidered shirts with wide sleeves and high collars. They all walked on white cobble streets and talked while passing by or leaning on the facade of buildings, which were colored in various bright colors. Most of them had big, arched windows and were rarely not ornamented, and a few balconies were scattered here and there with flowerpots on them. The colors started to peel off on a few walls but that didn't damp the beauty. Occasionally she could see a man in frilly, white clothes stop in front of a woman and start singing about her beauty, only to be pushed away by her husband. They weren't easily discouraged and quickly found new prey, repeating the same cycle over and over again.

Fascinated, she wandered around, taking everything in. Miranda had no idea where she was, but she granted herself a few minutes of ignorance, because everything was so much more different from what she was used to. The sun shone with more strength and even the air seemed clearer. Everyone was tanned, she observed.

She saw a carpenter showing off his products and heard him discuss the price with his customer. They were getting louder and louder until they found a compromise. Money and product changed owners and eventually the men shook their hands and laughed like old friends, then bid each other farewell. To her it seemed like they were going to get into a fight, the locals on the other hand seemed used to this. Just like those two guards, standing a few meters to her right, joked about the carpenters' usual behaviour.

_Guards?_

There was no other word for them. That's how she would imagine one after reading historic books in school: golden shining armor and helmets that covered most of their faces. They were most likely only painted in that color. One had a sword draped around his waist, while the other had a deadly looking mace with him. Dark, wide pants and leather boots with shin guards made the outfit complete. She guessed that the blue shirts with golden embroidery were the cities' colors, since they had a symbol in these colors on their hilts, too.

That was the moment she let the ignorance bubble pop. Really, where _was _she? Hopefully it was only a medieval festival. She approached the guards.

"Excuse me, do you know where the next bus stop is?" she asked them politely. If they were clad as guards, and this was a medieval festival, they could be policemen. And if not... it was always good to be polite.

They gave her strange looks. While the one with the sword mustered her clothes, knitting his brows - she must have looked as if she jumped into a river -, the man with the mace answered: "I am not sure what you want. You are not from here, I take it?"

Was asking for a bus stop too much to ask for? Damn it. They were role-playing or so, weren't they?

"Err, no. I'm from... London?" She said cautiously. That was a question good enough for every role-player. He would laugh at her and tell her that she _is _in London and everything would be fine. Only they didn't laugh. Their brows shot up, a doubting look on their faces. She wasn't sure why but she had a bad feeling and something told her to get away as soon as possible. "Look, I'm sorry, I just had a birthday party behind me and the alcohol is making thinking a bit difficult but I think I can find my way. Still, thank you." She escaped hastily. The men exchanged looks and wondered whether they should follow the woman, but that she didn't see or hear.

It was the first lie to pop up in her mind. Miranda had learned to trust her intuition when it came to other people and the looks these men gave her when she told them where she was from... well, she definitively didn't like them. Since they did not follow her, the lie must have worked and everything was fine for now, right?

Only that now she knew that she was not in London. This was certainly _not _fine.

Miranda sighed and leaned against the wall of a white house with three floors. It was build of marble and with its semicircular arches on top, columns and niches along the facade, she tagged it as the style of the Renaissance. The building did not give her a hint to her whereabouts, however, since buildings of the past can be found in every big city. Many of them intact and put into use even in modern times because they had been rebuild. Although way too many houses here seemed to be build in this way. Until now she hadn't seen a single modern one, which was strange, since newer building were often build very high. Ugly sometimes, yes, but much higher than these here, making them visible from a respectable distance.

Unnerved, she tucked a strand of coppery hair behind her ear and took her mobile out of her bag – and did a double take. She rummaged through her bag again until she got her hands on her Mp3-Player. It couldn't be!

Both clocks showed the same time, only the time did not match with the current one. Miranda was very certain they had been showing the correct time in London. While right now it was maybe shortly before midday, her electronic devices tried to convince her that it was eight o'clock in the evening.

All right, she wasn't in London and time's a little bit off, too. Who cares? Miranda typed in the number of a college friend of hers and waited for him to pick up. He didn't. Just as she was about to call her mother, worrying how she would explain this situation to her, she realized that she had no signal. Another thing to add on her list of strange happenings. Especially after walking for half an hour like a madman and still not receiving any signal. She even stood on a few crates that were stacked like a staircase once and still not received a damn line.

Now she was aimlessly following the crowd through narrow streets, every now and then stopping to look closely at some goods the merchants presented, always declining to buy anything, or to inspect the clothes of passersby. From time to time she would check her mobile for signals again, with little succes.

A strange thought formed in her head but she refused to follow the idea in that direction. There had to be some kind of explanation for men selling swords, bows and axes in broad daylight. She would hug the first person, who explained it or told her it was a joke or dream. Right now, she found another line of thoughts much more interesting.

Miranda looked up and wondered... would it work? If at home they weren't very pleased to see her climbing on their houses, how would they react here? She had gotten many more strange looks and had heard two men wonder about her outfit and appearance. Maybe the guards had not liked the clothes. Could she be branded a criminal because she looked suspicious to these people? Accused of wearing jeans, a vest top and a shirt over it, well, that sounds sad. Oh, don't forget the chucks of evilness!

This thought was the one that let her hesitate climbing the houses near her. They were perfect, with their heavily ornamented facades and she even saw wooden planks in the narrowest alleys connecting two roofs. Ropes on which lanterns were tied to could be used to move from roof to roof as well – they outnumbered the wooden planks by a lot – but dancing on such ropes like a clown was not appealing. But those houses... god, Nik would kill her if she didn't try them out. Nik was the cousin of her best friend and the one to teach her the unusual activity named 'Parkour'. It was a sport about reaching a specific point - often the top of a building - as fast as possible and only with the help of your own body. She quickly learned to love the thrill.

Someone else made the decision for her.

Miranda stood in one particularly empty alley and muttered to herself, waging the risk. She could make it to the top without too many people seeing her if she hurried. In addition, she was used to more even walls, thus speed would be no problem. Guards on rooftops would be, though. The ones on the ground rarely carried a bow with them, as far as she had seen, and the bows had to be somewhere. What place could be better than a place high up in the air to get a perfect aim at a target?

Suddenly someone ran into her, but she wasn't behaving as passive as the last time. Reflexively she reached down, only to stop his hand in time before he had stolen something from her. How fast he had opened the bag was unbelievable!

They struggled with each other. He tried not to hurt her, which made the fight even, since Miranda had never been properly taught in self-defence or anything along those lines. Right now, she improvised mostly.

And anger made her work very efficiently, she found out. She held him firmly by his shirt and stomped on his foot. He hissed but managed to get her hands off him and bend them uncomfortably behind her back. His height was an advantage.

Her knee rose and hit him between his legs. Not as hard as she would have liked it, but enough to make him loosen his grip for a split second, in which she tried to make him trip with her leg and the help of her hands, pushing his upper body.

He growled, seemingly pissed off, and the next thing she knew was that she hit the wall she just had wanted to climb. The thief towered dangerously over her.

Luck was on her side, though: a guard had seen them and yelled something, which resulted in more guards coming their way. The thief snarled displeased. Then he bend down to her ear, his black hair tickling her face, and whispered one word that would change the course of her whole day:

"_Revenge._"

He let go of her, took a few steps back and, with a little sprint, jumped onto a window on the left of Miranda. From there he climbed his way to the second one, about a meter higher than the first. He stopped midway and turned to look at her.

"Hurry up, Fiammetta! We need to get the money back safely," he yelled loud enough for the guards to hear. One last smirk and he resumed scaling the wall.

Son of a...!

"Catch the thieves!" her ex-savior-guard now yelled.

She started to climb, forgetting her worries from before, her hands finding the right spots to pull herself up all on their own. The thief was nowhere to be seen, he was good at Parkour, too. If they had met under other circumstances, she might have liked him for that.

Her heart pounded heavily. It was an unbelievable feeling to climb again, especially such a building. The structure was different, allowed climbing without thinking about not reaching a hold due to her small frame. And that she needed, because she had just climbed out of range of a spear. Were they actually preparing to throw stones now?

Miranda was up in no time, the adrenaline made her do no mistakes, and she would have enjoyed the view, would have like to revel in the familiar thrill, but she had to get away from a half dozen guards right now.

Frantically looking around she saw a roof garden out of the corner of her eyes and sprinted towards it. The buildings were connected, she only needed to watch out not to slip on the red tiles. She just had to choose one, that wasn't flat and even, had she? The last hurdle was another floor on which the roof garden was standing. With trained moves, Miranda jumped towards the peach-colored wall, her left leg meeting the wall first and pushing her further up. Her hands reached for the ledge and with the momentum, she heaved herself over the edge and quickly hid in the roof garden.

Minutes passed. Her heavy breathing calmed down. No one came by.

Birds chirped and the curtain draped onto the roof garden provided a good protection against the sun, thus Miranda leaned back, adjusted herself to a comfortable position and watched the curtains sway in a light breeze, lost in her own thoughts.

She shouldn't be here. By now, she should be sitting in her home, maybe reading a book out of boredom or surfing the Internet. Maybe fall asleep on her very comfortable sofa.

Yet, here she was, being chased by guards, tricked by thieves, sitting in a roof garden. Weren't those commonly used in the Orient? No, these buildings and people did not look as if they lived in an arabic state. She beat her head on the wood, frustrated. She _still_ did not know where she was. She got no signal on her mobile and started to doubt that she was even in the right century, which was the most abstract thought. How could she have time travelled? That was something for Sci-Fi-Fans, not her. Although she remembered that there were some scientists that had developed some kind of theory. Something about chaos, she wasn't sure. Good grief, the day had started so good.

How much worse could it get? She certainly did not want to find out.

Positive thoughts would be nice and she distracted herself with thoughts of 'Parkour'. It was an unusual activity she practiced, everyone told her so, but she just shrugged it off. She got to know the sport on her 20th birthday. Meaning about four years ago.

An older college student practiced it. They hadn't talked before, not even acknowledged each other, until one day, while Miranda was hurrying to her part-time job, she saw him climbing an old, deserted building. At the beginning she commented on him trying to be Spiderman but she was fascinated to see that there was more to it. No flashy moves, it was all about reaching a specific point with nothing more than your own body. There was no patent recipe for everyone to overcome a hurdle, even if there existed basic and advanced moves with specific names, the best thing to do was to be creative – and to know your body.

When he reached the top of the building, he seemed genuinely happy and proud with himself. That day she just called out to him and asked him if he could teach her to do the same. She ended up late for work and got scolded. And she ended up meeting Nik.

Miranda grinned. She would have liked to tell her mother and him how useful it had been right now. It saved her life!

Since no one had come by now, Miranda decided to leave her hiding spot. She peeked beneath the curtains, making sure she was alone, and then got out. In the distance, she could make out one archer and...

_No way!_

There was water. Clear, blue water, which seemed to glitter in the sun. It was flowing along those colorful houses and below small, white bridges. She could even make out a small church with a big white cross on its top and a few trees next to such a bridge. What made her stop, though, was one particular kind of boat:

A gondola.

Miranda mentally freaked out for a moment. There was only one place in the world that had gondolas swimming in its waters – Venice! She was in Venice!

She covered her face with her hands and groaned. She finally got her answer to her whereabouts, but everything just got a lot more complicated. Her brain was busy finding the best solution to get her out of this mess. If there was no bus stop, she had her doubts of finding an airport. Moreover, the cost of a flight would have been expensive. Walk back? As if. Cars were no option, maybe a horse could be found, but she had no idea how to ride one. Her thoughts spun in circles. Why should she return to London either way, if this was another century?

Her brain paused and accepted the logic argument. That did not made her particularly happy. If, in theory, Miranda _was_ stuck in another century, she was all alone in this city. Also she didn't know in which year she _might have _gotten stuck. Only a hypothesis, she reassured herself. What if Venice was to be attacked and conquered the very next day, though? What survial chances did she have then?

There goes her hypothetical thinking.

Miranda stared at the water again; the gondola had already disappeared behind a green house. Right now the water was a specific point she wanted to reach, her new goal. She had to do something, had to move. She choose the water subconsciously because it had begun with extreme rain in London. The more dominating thought was: she wanted to wash her face.

She jumped onto the tiles, nearly losing her balance and made her way to the water. Over planks and arched stone, balconies and flat rooftops, always out of sight of archers. Once, she saw a child run up here and jump into hay that was lying around for whatever reason. Shortly after, she had to hide herself behind a pillar, too, because a guard was searching for the kid. When he stabbed the heap of hay once, her heart stopped. He didn't reach out for the boy, though, and continued his search. Seconds later the boy hopped out and brushed some hay out of his clothes. His left pant leg was torn at his thigh.

She needed exactly 27 minutes to reach the water according to her mobile. If it wasn't getting signals, one had to use it in other ways. Miranda sat on a flattened rooftop, sweating, and scanned the area. If she moved to the second building in the west, she could climb down a ladder, which was probably the best way of not gaining too much attention. Climbing down a building was more difficuilt, in her opinion, than climbing up, anyway and people would see her. With her luck she might meet the very same guards that chased her before. The problem was, she would have to jump and land on a perfectly triangular roof first. She wasn't patient enough to find another way. She had had to search for another way already three times by now, because of a too big gap to jump over or just because she was worried that she might slip. Jumping was her biggest weakness in Parkour. Everything in combination with jumping was her weak point – she earned the worst score in her class in school. And jumping into the water, getting wet a second time? No. Just... no!

She mustered the wall in front of her with dubious brown eyes. It was made of brick, like many others, the only difference being its lack of color. Hopefully that was a good omen.

Miranda held her breath and took a few steps back. With a sprint towards the ledge, her foot pushing her off the ledge in the perfect moment, she leaped into the sky – and hit the wall.

It was a free-fall of a few meters and even though there was grass down on the ground and no concrete, she had no time to react, no time to turn and try to soften her landing, and hit the ground in a very ungraceful way. Pain erupted in her head and stars danced before her eyes. She cried out and curled up reflexively.

"Are you alright?" she heard someone ask. No, I'm rolling around in pain, just for fun!

Before she could answer verbally, though, she lost her consciousness yet again.

* * *

Miranda awoke on something she quickly considered a sofa and the thought of only having dreamt everything occurred to her, which made her body shot up as a result – and herself hiss in pain.

"No, no, no. Don't move so quickly! You hit your head pretty good," she heard a voice say but she couldn't clearly see, less locate the person. The sound of footsteps going away from her, then someone rummaging through things could be heard.

Since she had nothing better to do and was hurt, she examined the room she was in once her eyes were able to focus again, which appeared to be an atelier.

On the opposite wall of the sofa were many bookshelves filled with books or vases and various things she couldn't name. In front of them were two tables shoved together in the form of a L. To her right was a door, most likely the entrance, since she could hear the faint sound of people talking through a slightly opened, arched window with darkened glass. To her left was an archway that led to another room with at least one table and wooden stool. Out of that room came the rummaging sounds. Her eyes focused on a painting, which leaned on one side of the archway. It was almost finished: a woman in a creamy and dark dress and a veil sitting loosely on her head.

Just as she wanted to turn around to see more, she heard a faint 'Aha!' and a man – in his mid-twenties, she guessed – walked towards her.

He was about six feet high, wore a long dark green tunic, with golden embroidery, and puffed sleeves. He wore, like most of the men here, high leather boots, but he was one of the few with a cloak draped over his shoulder. On a belt around his waist was a little bag, his purse maybe. More important now, though, was the fact that he held bandages, a piece of cloth and a bowl of water in his hands.

She reached out to touch the back of her head lightly and when she pulled her hand back, she saw blood on it. What would happen the next time she fell unconscious? Would she gain a broken leg?

"It does not appear to be a serious wound. I would advise you to see a doctor soon, though," he told her and held the water-filled bowl up, "May I?" She nodded simply.

He sat down and made her turn her head to the right side, so she ended up staring at the wall, while he began to wash the blood off. The first nice person she met today, she realized. Or the most compassionate one. This day is a sad joke, after all. A few minutes passed in silence as he finally bandaged her head.

"There! That should do it," he exclaimed smiling.

Smiling fit his face, it made him look good. Not that he wasn't attractive, quite the opposite actually. It's just that smiling made his blue eyes shine even more. She decided that he was a generally nice person, her intuition telling her there was nothing to fear. He stood up and placed the bowl with now reddish liquid on the 'L-Table'.

"I will escort you back to your family, if you allow. I won't tell them how you really gained the wound; you just slipped, did you not?" he offered her with an innocent smile. What a gentleman! However, she needed to lie, fast. She had no one here, after all.

"Thank you for your offer but... I'm feeling a little dizzy and everything is blurry inside my head. I can't remember much," she gave him an apologetic smile.

"How terrible! Do you at least remember your name?" Honest concern filled his voice. He certainly does not make it easy for her.

"Miranda Evans... that's my name. Everything will surely return once I have rested. Is it inconvenient for you if I...?" She motioned towards the sofa. She did now know why she told him her real name but it just did not seem fair to lie any more to such a friendly person. More likely, it was just her trying to find an excuse for her bad lying, which she couldn't even maintain. She decided to disappear tomorrow morning, either way. A good amount of sleep would help her think straight - hopefully.

"Of course not! I can arrange the guest room, as well, if you waited."

"No, I'm fine with this. Really," she reassured him. She did not dare to take advantage of his kindness even more. Otherwise she actually might tell him the truth.

Miranda leaned back and made herself comfortable, while the man went to get her a pillow. She didn't ask for his name. It was better that way.

As soon as she found a good position, she closed her eyes and started to drift into sleep very quickly. The man would never get here in time with his pillow. Somewhere on the brim of sleep, Miranda was surprised to realize that she had been talking in Italian the whole time.

* * *

First of all, I encourage you to tell me about every grammar mistakes or wrong spelling of words you find, since english is not the language I was born with.

Otherwise... I hope you enjoyed reading my very first fanfiction! I hate writing beginnings. (_Edit: With this slightly changed and improved version of the chapter, I'm happy. Oh, and don't interpret too much into Miranda doing Parkour. She won't be as good as Ezio, not close to his abilities at all.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

Cuddled like a ball, Miranda heard the muffled sounds of people talking. Being half-asleep, she couldn't understand one word. One moment she tried to listen in to the conversation, noticing that two men were talking, the other she was losing herself in her dreams again.

Out of habit her hand stretched over the end of the sofa, found her bag and lazily searched for her mobile. Why hadn't she put it under her pillow like always? It was too much work this way. She turned the display on and stared a few seconds at the clock. 15 o'clock it showed.

Wait what!

She jerked up, her body instantly awake with a curse escaping her lips, and went a hand trough her hair. How could she have slept so much? She hated to oversleep half the day. As her feet wanted to carry her to her bathroom automatically to wash her face, she instead looked up into the faces of two men before her. How did they...?

Reality catched up with her. Rain, white room, Venice. Presumably having time travelled. Hitting the wall, being aided. And getting a place to sleep, as well, with the help of a lie. She had amnesia, better not forget that. Her name was all she knew.

Everything checked? Good.

"Ah, you're awake," the familiar man exclaimed.

She did not answer. Her thoughts still raced in her head. Hadn't she wanted to flee in the morning? Ah, but her clock didn't show the right time, meaning it _was_ still morning. The option of fleeing was there, if complicated a tiny bit. With the arrival of another man, how could she do it, without seeming to disrespectful? She did not know whether he was his friend or just a normal customer but she did not wish to give him a bad reputation or anything along these lines. He was clad in white; pieces of armor protecting the most important and vulnerable parts of his body, and had black, slightly curled hair, which he kept in a ponytail. He did not look like a guard but still, he carried an alarming amount of weapons with him. Gulping, Miranda could make out two daggers and a long sword at his side, also something shiny that poked out from his boots. He was tanned and had a masculine, attractive face with a small scar at the right half of his lips. He eyed her suspiciously.

"What is that?" he pointed at her mobile, which was still in her hand. No way, she couldn't have been... Miranda actually had been so stupid as to ruin – if she was lucky only complicate _even more_ – her escape plans. Someone please punch her into unconsciousness again. Stupid die-hard habits.

"Err, just a souvenir I bought," she said with a coarse voice and cleared her throat. She forced her hands to calmly put it back into her bag when she was interrupted.

"Souvenir?" he asked.

"A token!" Miranda replied quickly. Watch your words, girl, please!

"Show me then. I'm curious as to what is popular now; I want to buy something for my sister."

Her hands stopped midair. Yes, sure, you suddenly have a sister. Could she refuse? He had weapons and he was already high on alert. She didn't do something wrong, did she?. Oh, no. Maybe he _was _working with the guards and chasing her! Everything was the fault of that stupid thief. If she ever got her hands on him...

No idea popped in her mind about how to evade the question he asked or what to lie about her mobile – she was a bad liar anyway and her mobile was still on. One look at the display would be revealing too much already. Maybe playing insane would help.

"What is the date and year today?" she asked bluntly. She needed to know, needed to buy time, already playing out a story of birds and bears attacking the world in her head. He looked at her as if she indeed was crazy and he didn't even hear her story yet, then looked at the artist, whose name she still did not know. He only shrugged. Today he wore a dark blue shirt, without a high collar as an exception, and brown pants with boots of a softer material than just leather.

"It's the 29th August 1485," the tanned man replied slowly.

Her eyes widened for a second. 1485? What where the chances of some random guy lying to her? Crap, what had happened to her? That man runs into her in London and… that's it! He must have done something to her; she did not know what, though. Thinking more rationally, she wondered how he could have done something. He must have lain on the ground at least three feet away from her. He hadn't touched her before _it_ already started to happen… she was lost in thought, forgetting about the two men in the room, until her mind returned to the present again. They still eyed her cautiously. The idea of birds and bears had already disappeared from her mind, leaving her with nothing except the truth - which would sound as crazy as the story before.

"You really want to see this?" she asked warily, trying her best to sound and look paranoid. The unfamiliar man's eyebrow shot up. She sighed heavily. He certainly did not believe her performance. It hurt her ego, she wasn't _that_ bad at acting...

"Ok, ok, I won't lie anymore. Do you mind if I try, though? If I tell you the truth, you'll think that I've lost my mind. Or just let me leave peacefully and we'll forget everything that happened," she rambled on. She was nervous – who wouldn't be? Maybe a badass woman, like the hero from a video game wouldn't behave like this and lie or fight her way out of this situation with bravura, but she was just a normal woman. Miranda was brave, yes, but this was a completely different situation than one would be used to and she was still very confused.

"Try the truth, I like it more," he stated simply.

She took a deep breath. "The last time I checked I was still in year 2010. That's about… 525 years I'm wrong in time. And this here," she held up her mobile, "is a mobile. It's common to have one in my time and it's used to communicate with others. Oh, the name I gave you is my real one, by the way." Well, hope you like this truth, as well. Because it really sounded like the kind of stuff an insane woman would give off. She wouldn't have believed herself if she were him.

And he didn't believe her, too. Doubted her even more now, giving her a look that told her to stop kidding with him. You take me as serious as my bad attempts at acting? Well, thank you for trampling on my ego again! "Here, look. Have you ever seen something like this in your time before? I doubt so," she added slightly irritated and handed him the mobile.

He took it carefully and turned it around, examined it from every angle, then gave it to the artist. The artist inspected it with more professional eyes, even pushing one of the numbers, resulting in the display glowing dimly. She had the key lock still on.

"I've never seen something like this. This material is unusual. How does it work?" he confirmed her story and wondered at the same time, because the display turned black again.

"It would take too long to describe it in detail. Can I just go, please? I didn't lie and you can take a look at these things here, too." Miranda held her bag the wrong way and its content fell upon the sofa: her umbrella, a pack of tissues, her purse, Mp3-Player, a lip-gloss, and a ballpoint pen.

"I only wish to find a way home. I'm not suspicious or so," she explained.

Mr. 'Blue Shirt', as she called him with her lack of a name, had already stepped closer and was busy examining her other belongings. The one in white stood with his arms crossed, first looking at the things, then at her. He was surely a friend of the artist; no customer would act like this. His eyes bore into hers. She did not back away, since she could feel that he wasn't as suspicious as before, his shoulders relaxing a bit. Miranda did not know how long this staring contest lasted; she was concentrating on showing him, with the help of her eyes, that she _was _indeed innocent and would do no harm. The tanned man's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. Maybe she had come off the right way. Maybe she had done some grimaces, who knows?

With his inspection finished, 'Blue Shirt' shook his head, his eyes still glued to her belongings as if he wanted to break them into their component parts right here on the spot.

"I trust that you're not from here. You could of course do a little fortune-telling…" The tanned man's lips twitched mischievously again. Okay, she was safe for the moment.

As long as she could tell him something of interest, of course. Damn it, Venice in 1485? A duke, or _doge _in Italian, reigned in Venice, that was the first idea that popped into her mind - just who reigned this time? If she was lucky then... yes, it's him!

"Marco Barbarigo, the _doge_, dies in 1486! He was the shortest one, being _doge_ for less than a year." The answer just shot out of her, something she had read when researching for her essay on Italy's history. But she did not know when a _doge_ was elected nor when this one had actually died. A date or time of year was never written down. And she was in 1485, not 1486. It was too big a gap, too far away to make her believable now.

"Marco Barbarigo is _doge_?" he asked, taken aback.

Miranda blinked. Was she wrong? No, it couldn't be. She had done a very good essay and that was one of a few names which had stayed in her mind. But if he wasn't _doge_ yet… that reduced the gap! It was August, no, September almost, after all. Meaning, she wouldn't need to wait a year for his death but only for his election in the next months.

"Yes. From 1485 to 1486. His brother claims the title after him, from 1486 to… wait, I'm altering the future already too much, I think." The thought had just hit her. It was something that was always talked about in movies; how every move, every word could change the future. What if Marco Barbarigo is never going to be elected because of her words? What if his brother never succeeds him because of illness and death? But those were movies. What does one do if it is actually real? There was no one here telling her in a dramatic voice about the possible outcomes of her decisions. She had to choose on her own. _She_ had to know what was right or wrong.

Let's just hope she wasn't talking to an assassin or something along those lines. Otherwise, she had a problem.

"Well, that's... interesting. If it is true, naturally." He seemed lost in thoughts. His eyes found those of his friend, who hadn't talked much yet. "What do you think we should with her? We need proof of her words," he asked him. Just what she had guessed, they would need to check her words. Inwardly, she hoped that the _doge_ would be elected in a week or so.

"You could let her stay here or in your villa. Although, you might have to explain as to why you're letting her stay there," he stated, "I know the story. Also, I would like to inspect these things further."

His villa? He was a rich man? That surprised her. She hoped he wasn't one of those that held their villas or summer residences outside of town. Rather stay in Venice, which she knew in names and looks. Kinda. Some museum visits, internet researches and such - that kind of 'knowing'.

The tanned man chuckled lightly. "I knew you would like to take a look at these things. You think you can watch her...?"

"She is hurt, Ezio. And confused. I don't think she means any harm." She shook her head vehemently – mentally, of course. It unnerved her a bit that they were talking about her as if she didn't exist but she kept her mouth shut.

The man named Ezio sighed. "I will trust you with this then, _mio amico_. I'll come by later again." They bid each other farewell and Ezio left the atelier. Thus, her escape had failed. Maybe it was better this way. What would she have done otherwise? Stroll the streets with no real home? Even if it was warm here in the summers, she had no idea how cold the winters were. Also, she would have to result to stealing since she had no food. Women didn't hold that much of social standing here, she guessed, and it would be much more difficult to find a job. An image of her, lying in the same alley she had arrived in, covered in snow and shivering, thin body because of not eating properly, popped into her mind. Doctors surely didn't care about people without money and she would die of fever or another random disease. Miranda shuddered. Yeah, her mistake with the mobile had been for the best. And if Marco Barbarigo became _doge_ soon… well, she would gain some bonus points at least. Maybe their trust.

"Thank you for letting me stay," she then said sincerely to the artist.

"_Nessun problema_," he smiled warmly, then his face changed into one of surprise, "Oh, where are my manners! I am Leonardo da Vinci. Painter, inventor, architect."

Miranda stared up at him in disbelief. Was she really standing – sitting, she corrected herself – in the atelier of the famous Italian polymath? Mentally, she finished the list: Not only a painter, inventor and architect but a scientist, mathematician, anatomist with amazing results, cartographer, geologist, sculptor, even a musician and botanist! All negative thoughts vanished immediately.

"Maybe you like to hear that you're one of the most famous men in the world, even in my time. And... wow. I'm speechless."

"Oh? That flatters me, I'm curious as to why, though," he chuckled.

He had not drawn his most famous pictures, yet, had he? Even so, many other great things made his name so well known even 500 years in the future.

Had Miranda, a normal woman, just been granted the chance to look at his paintings, his _real, freshly done paintings_, and not at copies, repainted or damaged ones or through a monitor? Fate did like her a bit, after all! To look at his paintings was worth staying a day or two. Her heart twinged, scared. She shouldn't joke about this.

Da Vinci clapped once excitedly, his dark blond hair swaying around with the sudden movement. "Now, maybe you want to drink something while you explain me how these work."

She would be explaining something to a genius, to Leonardo da Vinci! No one would believe her. She delayed thinking of a way returning to home to after the conversation and nodded, still overwhelmed with the information, preparing for a long discussion.

* * *

It did take a long time. The sun was setting again when they had cleared every instance they could about her belongings. Miranda could have never imagined how much one could talk about a pack of tissues.

In the beginning she tried to stay as vague as possible, worried about telling too much. But da Vinci seemed so interested, almost as excited as a little child when he held the different objects in his hands, and slowly he drew more information out of her. She stilled her gnawing guilt with the words that he had invented plans for tanks and solar energy even without her being here. What harm would describing a lip-gloss do? Lipsticks already existed and weren't that different, in her opinion. Leonardo on the other hand thought otherwise and even tried the lip-gloss on! She couldn't talk normally for nearly ten minutes because of the serious look this intelligent man had been wearing, while having red, shiny lips and saying something about its consistence. The image always popped into her mind and left her speechless in one moment and laughing the other.

While she had described her belongings in as much detail she could afford, she still withheld most of the details about technology and its accomplishments. Deciding on her own how much was good was very difficult. She did tell him roughly how a mobile worked but since he did not know anything about cellular network or electronic in general, he naturally asked about these and more. The modern woman did not answer him these questions, avoided them with the simplest kind of an answer she could afford to the question, often resulting in her explaining what she just had said. She really needed to watch out not to use too many modern words. Eventually he gave up and continued with the ballpoint pen, which made him look as delighted as if she had told him that he had won a thousand pounds. Or whatever the currency was called here.

Of course, Miranda wasn't the only one talking, otherwise her guilt would have really killed her. Soon she was the one to ask questions, to wonder about things. He seemed to believe his own words of her not meaning any harm and told her about the current happenings. About the political situation in Venice and its international status, about its famous woodcut illustration and not only because of its beauty – many painters praised the position at the water –, it's popular and celebrated sculptors, _l'Arsenale_ and other famous buildings and churches, whose names she couldn't remember as enthusiastically as Leonardo. To her reassurance, Venice did not appear to be in a war situation.

He had continued talking even while eating. It was strange to eat with a man she pretty much knew a day… and yet again knew so much about. Following that line of thoughts, she interrupted him in his speech, to ask him about his age. He confirmed her: He was actually thirty-three years old! Miranda knew he hadn't lived in Venice as a boy, however, he really did look very young: his hair was still full; his skin did not show many signs of age and his bright, blue eyes shone with life and curiosity – they could challenge a childs' eyes. No wonder she had guessed his age wrong a day before.

Now, both of them still sitting at the L-Table, he was busy describing the differences in fashion – she had made a comment about how strange they looked, this much freedom she allowed herself already – and stopped in the middle of a sentence to eye her from head to toe.

"You need other clothes, as well. These won't fit here, even if they are… nice," he said slowly. She bit back a laugh, but still grinned. Even if she had learned a lot about him and his behavior along the day, how he thought about a few politicians, even, he had been growing up with the 15th century fashion. To him she most likely looked like a boy – with her height it was no surprise – and maybe in fact like one of those that lived on the streets. To put it simply: not at all like a grown-up woman.

"No dresses, if possible. They make running difficult."

"I thought as much. Climbing as well, I assume?" he eyed her curiously. She sighed.

"I'm actually good at it. It's just the jumping part I'm bad at," she defended herself. Leonardo chuckled as he collected the empty plates.

With him gone upstairs again Miranda looked around the atelier, which was closed for the day, for the nth time and her eyes once again fell upon the impressive flying machine that hung on ropes from the top floor. Everything was _real._ She could reach and out and touch it, touch _him_ even! The moments of silence in between their conversations, in which both sides processed the information the other one had given, were moments in which her mind told her once again to stop joking around. To think about solutions or accept what had happened. Before she could so, however, the conversation started anew and Miranda banned her thoughts away.

Someone knocked on the door. Strangely enough in a rhythm. Three times fast, as one normally would do, then another two times slightly slower. It was a miracle she had even noticed it.

Leonardo hurried downstairs and opened the door. A tall man walked in, grey wool cap on his head; although it was still warm, no matter that the night was slowly approaching. The other thing she immediately noticed was him being the first man to wear short trousers without high boots or socks. He wore simple but fitting shoes, which ended at his ankle. When her gaze met his she realized something else:

He was blind.

"Leonardo? I have something for you. Should I return later?" he asked politely, his milky eyes glancing to her for a brief moment. Maybe he was only partly blind? Or did he _hear _her? It was strange to see him looking directly into her eyes, although he shouldn't have had known where she stood. Whatever it was, his tone, even if polite, suggested her to leave. It was private, definitively not for her or anyone else to hear.

Leonardo, too, glanced once in her direction, and replied: "No, let us go upstairs."

She was curious as to what they were discussing but she was here the second day only and did not want to lose the little trust she might have gained today. Rather did she look at Leonardo's huge arsenal of books. Many different titles, somewhat randomly picked, were rowed there. She approached a shelf and traced the back of the books lightly. While touching them, her head made her remember her situation again. How many of these would survive until the 21st century? She pulled one with a blue binding out to delay indulging to her thoughts again.

It was strange to start reading because it wasn't her language. The whole time while talking, Miranda had wondered how she actually did it. Her thoughts were in English, she heard everyone else talk in English, or so it seemed to her, too. When she focused, though, she could hear Leonardo talking in Italian but her brain seemed to translate it in a few nanoseconds. But books were another thing. Miranda _saw _the different language, _saw _the different word she never heard of. Her mind had to actually do some work and search its newly added Italian database, which took about a second maybe. It wasn't much of an delay but it was there and it was odd. Thus reading the firsts pages took a bit more time.

It was about art. The first pages had described how art was a beautiful way to express oneself, but the night quickly tore her from her book, preventing her from reading the rest. She did not know where a candle was and even if she found one, she didn't particularly need to read, anyway.

She went to a window and opened it. It was still very warm but a light breeze blew through the streets. There were still more than enough people outside, since the sun had set only a few moments ago. Miranda could make out their dark figures filling the streets. She looked up into a sky full of stars. She had never seen this many at once, but it made sense with the air being less polluted. It was actually really nice to just stand there and look out but she had to think about her situation. It was due, had been the moment she had realized that she was in Venice, but being too confused to think rationally and rather chose to distract herself with familiar activities and reaching the water, she did not. What would she have done if she hadn't hit her head? Once again, the image of her lying in that alley flashed before her mind. She mentally kicked it away and concentrated on the stars. Miranda never understood how one was able to see figures, like the zodiac signs, in them but currently she wished she did. It was the same sky in every time, after all.

Suddenly her heart stung, realizing that she would probably not see any face she had learned to love anymore, or for at least an unknown amount of time. She had no idea how she ended up here, even less of how to get back home again. They could be looking out into the nightsky just like her, wondering where she had disappeared to. Had the police already been alarmed? Of course they had been – Miranda had never disappeared for days and her mother was worried when she did not call.

She mentally repeated her two days here, observing her actions and surroundings in a more objective way, accepting and acknowledging everything that happened. And with her thoughts now finally calm and collected, but still being a bit scared, she began thinking about what to do in the near future, but was interrupted by Leonardo and his guest.

His guest nodded in her direction, or so she thought, thus she nodded back. The woman watched him walk confidently through the streets. If one wouldn't look in his eyes, one wouldn't think he was blind.

"I've prepared the guest room, also the bath is all yours," she heard Leonardo say.

"Yeah, I'll take a shower then," she replied. Then added another sentence: "I never imagined you to be so nice." For a genius he was a very likable man.

"Oh? Why not? I thought only the good side of me would be known!" Even though she couldn't see his face clearly, she saw his dark figures move its hands theatrically. His voice was filled with mock-hurt.

Miranda laughed quietly. "There are some very embarrassing things..."

"Oh my. My good image is gone then!" She grinned and let him guide her to the bathroom upstairs. He didn't continue the joking, nor did he want to know anything real about him and for that she was grateful. She had talked her mouth fuzzy today.

Still, wherever she might have landed, Leonardo da Vinci's place seemed to be the best choice.

* * *

And the second chapter is up! Maybe you can slowly guess what the next mission in the game is. I didn't translate the Italian parts yet, since I think the few I used are easy to understand. Otherwise I would be writing the English translation [like this]. I think.

Whatever, I chose this point to start because it seemed most logical and at the same time interesting enough to me. It's nice to start in 1476 but... I don't want to write about 10 years and more - especially not 23!

I'm not too sure if the word 'souvenir' is known in the 15th century - I just decided that it wasn't. If it is, I can change that part easily, it wouldn't affect much.


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

Miranda was busy changing from her sleeping wear, meaning her underwear, into her newly washed and dried clothes - the same ones she had arrived in. She had washed her underwear, too, always while bathing, since a man living alone did not have anything for a woman to wear and she didn't wish to start stinking. Da Vinci was always up late, granting her the chance to use the bath for a longer period than needed.

A few days had passed since her arrival in the 15th century. On her third day, Miranda had finally gotten a visit from a doctor, just as Leonardo had advised her. She did not want to know how much he must have paid and the thought was forgotten for some time when she saw the man with the bird-like mask enter. A contamination mask. That surely didn't look reassuring to his patient. He wasn't as scary as he looked, though, professionally disinfecting the wound with drops of alcohol, then reapplying the bandages, telling her it would heal in no time. Her passing out had just been from the great impact her head had received from the fall and according to Leonardo Miranda only had been unconscious for a few minutes.

Other than that, Miranda hadn't gone outside yet but read and slept a lot these days. Leonardo was busy with his shop and sometimes she would be watching him draw, build or destroy something, sometimes listen to him talking to his customers. Other times she would be staring at pictures and sketches she thought she recognized. In the back of his atelier, just through the archway, past the leaning picture, the wall was filled with sketches of bones and skulls, hearts and lungs – pretty much every part of a human body. Scattered through them were sketches of landscapes, some colored, others barely recognizable as such and of persons in varying positions and places.

Bigger paintings were stored in here, too, most of them covered with a simple blanket. Those she didn't remember and seeing as they weren't really far progressed, she guessed Leonardo wasn't as interested in them. He would look at them shortly, then decide to do something else. One of these he seemed to like and want to finish, on the other hand, and that one made her stop in her tracks and do a double take:

The Virgin of the Rocks.

It wasn't finished, oh no, but it was on its way. One could clearly see what was going to be drawn in the different corners. Whenever he had time to spare he would take a brush in his hand, regard the painting for quite some time and add a few more strokes to it. Miranda was stunned. Not because he was clearly a professional in his work or because she was impressed that he never appeared to do a mistake with his brush. She was stunned because of the sole existence of this particular painting.

Miranda looked at herself in the mirror in her room. She could see the edge of the huge bed reflected in it, and the door opposite the mirror, also a dresser on the left side of the room. It definitively wasn't named like that, she knew no other name, though. Through the slightly darkened glass of the windows, she could see that the sun shone once again. Any signs of rain hadn't shown themselves yet. Miranda was slowly adjusting herself into this kind of life and if she had suitable clothes, she would have liked to go outside now, for she was not the type of woman to stay inside all day long. But the fact that she was still to be watched deemed it impossible. Reaching for the doorknob, Miranda exited the room.

Leonardo's private quarters were all in the upper part of the building, which was no surprise really. Her room was across the stairs leading down to the back of his atelier. Next to her room was Leonardo's, which is a bit bigger than hers is. Next to his was the bath. Across from Leonardo's door was the door leading to the living room. Or living library. In there were once again tons of books. Everything one needed was arranged up here just like she was used to – everything but the kitchen. Opening her door, Miranda found herself looking at a fairly large free space, reaching from the stairs to the wall of the living room. That is where the owner kept his kitchen. On the wall opposite her were kitchen cabinets and the small dining table was just next to the railing, to keep people from falling while eating, she mused. It was unusual to eat at such a place but oddly enough, it fit. It wasn't odd enough to top the term 'time travel', however.

The young woman steered to the direction of the cabinets and grabbed an apple out of a bowl of fruits. She wasn't really hungry right now. Even less in the mood to cook.

Biting into her apple, she went to the living room, a relatively large room with a sofa in front of the fireplace. Another wall of shelves was in here too, crammed with books. Books which hadn't fit in there anymore were stacked like a small leaning tower of Pisa. The walls shone in a warm red, with their lower parts elaborated of wood. On a small table next to the fireplace she kept her book. It was the art book she had picked randomly her first evening. She was nearly finished and, while eating, read on. Soon Miranda was stretched out on the sofa, one hand holding the rest of her apple, which she would throw away, the other holding the book so she could read the last pages. Her still wrong clock – seven hours early – showed her that she had been reading nearly an hour. In addition, her display showed her with a thin line of red in the upper right corner that the battery would die soon. Being inevitable, in a short amount of time Miranda would be completely without electronics. Her Mp3-Player had already left her a day before.

She closed the book and tugged it under her arm, went to the kitchen to throw the apple away, then went downstairs to put the book away. Down, next to the stairs, was a hatch-like door which resulted in another pair of stairs leading to da Vinci's small basement. She guessed that was the place where he kept his human bodies for research... the idea had manifested itself in her head while passing the numerous sketches of the human body. She passed the table and stool she had already seen on her first day and peeked through the archway, but no one was here but the master himself. He was an early riser next to sleeping late. How he did that day after day and still be able to stay as cheerful, she did not know.

She greeted him and put the book away. He was busy writing something, eyes concentrated, barely nodding to acknowledge her arrival. The woman thought about starting another book but decided to something else instead.

Ezio came by shortly after, only to find her cleaning the table in the atelier. One had to contribute something to living like a freeloader. He nodded once in her direction, then went to Leonardo and began a conversation with him. It was the first time Miranda saw him after her arrival. Was his 'coming back later' always a few days long? After a brief exchange of words, Ezio came back to her.

"You really must be confident of your words if you show no intentions of fleeing," he spoke without further formalities.

"Apart from the fact that I have nowhere to flee to, didn't you say that you believe me?" she replied with a short glance towards his face. He smirked, he was in a very good mood.

"Just a little joke. I do, but you need to understand that we need proof of your words. I hope you will forgive us when this is over, _bella donna._ (Beautiful woman.)" She wondered what he would say if she declined.

"Yes, of course. It's normal to be suspicious," she answered instead.

"I knew you would understand! It's a shame to keep you inside always, so I thought you might want to go outside with me? I have time today," he told her. Her eyes shot up and met his instantly. Going outside? Just what she needed! She did wonder why he would offer her this when he was the more suspicious one of the two men... Her joy of hearing the proposal swapped places with her suspicion.

"What do you gain from it?" she asked cautiously.

"Your smile," he replied a bit too fast, a charming smile on his lips. Something told her that he used this phrase quite often. As a result, she raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me the truth, I like it more," she quoted him, putting on a charming smile on her own.

He chuckled. "I actually hoped you would lead me to the place you appeared at. I heard it isn't nearby and there could be something worth finding. And if not – walking through the city and meeting someone who knew you would reveal your lies. I do not believe the second option will occur, but one has to keep them open, no?"

Well, now he sounded truthful.

"All you had to do was ask. I can try to lead you there." Finally a chance to get outside!

"Now that it's settled, here are some clothes for you. They may be a bit too big." He handed her a bundle of clothes.

Miranda went upstairs to change in her room. He didn't give her any shoes, she noticed, but finding fitting ones would be difficult without knowing her size. Short shorts – they would have ended just above his knees maybe, ended in the middle of her shin, however -, covered her legs. A long-sleeved, white shirt swayed loosely around her upper body. She quickly decided to roll up her sleeves. Luckily he thought of a belt for her shorts, too, for they were already slipping dangerously low. She couldn't quite place the strange leggings he had given her and decided to put them in the dresser along with the long woolen socks she surely wasn't going to wear. If the blind man could walk around without them then she could, too. It would be too hot with them on.

Checking herself again in the mirror and jumping a few times to see if anything was not secure enough, the woman went down again. The only thing not fitting were her shoes but oh, well. At least they were black, so they wouldn't be noticed that easily. She had yellow ones at home, too.

Ezio and Leonardo waited for her. Seems like the master, too, would be coming. He might be taking off a few too many days... she wasn't quite sure. But with his curious nature she could imagine that he would like to find out more about what happened. Miranda left her bag upstairs, deciding that she wouldn't need it and quickly followed Ezio through the door, leaving the atelier for the first time in days.

* * *

The still shining sun blended her - once again a day without clouds. It was September but the summer would certainly last the whole month at this rate. She couldn't imagine autumn being much colder than now. What about winter – does it snow a lot in southern countries?

With two tall men in tow, she walked the streets curiously. Ezio was wearing normal clothes without armor. He would stand out too much with the ones he wore before and the amount of weapons decreased to a sword at his side. At least it was the only weapon she could _see_ at the moment.

Her eyes wandered off quickly, glancing this and that way, reveling in the atmosphere. Her clothes moved loosely, but with the belt on, she did not care nor need to adjust them. A passing woman with her child eyed her curiously because one could see from her face that she was a woman and not a man. However, not like the women here, who showed her femininity with open cleavages and dresses, the richer ones wearing jewelry, too, she wore these too big manly clothes instead. Her breasts were barely recognizable.

Having the time and a better disguise, she made use of it to look at everything and everyone again. To see the differences in clothing Leonardo had described; peasants with plain and partly rugged clothing, walking with crates in their hands or cleaning the street; monks with dark robes, stuck in deep conversations; and noblemen with puffed sleeves and pants, which made them even broader than they were. Many wore hats of varying sizes and complexity. Scattered in between were a few turbans, too and – if not covered by a veil or small hat – high pinned women hair. Most of the people had dark hair, the only variations being black and brown, but she could swear that she had seen a blond woman walk around a corner just a moment ago. Miranda's hair color was rare in the 21st century, too, so she was used to the few glances towards her head, not even noticing them anymore. But to only see _one _blonde woman? That was unusual.

Shielding her eyes, she turned around to face her men, though she averted her attention to a building, proudly standing taller than most of the nearby ones. Miranda pushed her way through the crowd and ended up in a tunnel-like passage. Four guards at the end of it eyed her suspiciously; surely no one would allow her to enter. It was a big, intimidating building with many windows, held in white. Like a fortress. A high fence was build around it to emphasize this. Feeling like a tourist, she returned to Ezio and Leonardo who stood n the streets, not daring to come closer like her.

"I know that building… what's it called again?" she asked.

"_Il_ _Palazzo della Seta,_"Ezio answered, sounding rather displeased, staring at the building with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, that's the name! One of the many buildings we had in art class for the architectural features of this period. Who lives here now?"

"Emilio Barbarigo. A tyrant who is ruling the market district," he answered bitter.

"He is a fearsome man. It is difficult to maintain one's business with his rules," Leonardo added. Since he was a merchant, too, in a way, he knew what he was talking about, already having met Barbarigos men a few times.

"Hm, never heard of him." Miranda shrugged. The fact that this man had the same surname as two _doges_ was surprising but she couldn't remember a book saying something about a third brother. He could be just one of the many unnamed brothers and sisters, which big authorities had, that were overshadowed by the glamour of their famous siblings.

Ezio grinned broadly. "You don't need to." She just missed an inside joke, didn't she? That's how she felt right now with his expression, at least. She could imagine Ezio starting to hum innocently and rub it into her face, too.

"We are trying to find the place you arrived at. Can you describe it?" he continued.

"Err, an alley. Then a big plaza. I don't know much more, every street looks pretty much the same. And there were too many people..."

"Anything else?" he asked. She could hear the hidden meaning behind his words: _That's not helpful_.

"You wouldn't be able to remember much more than me if you had landed in my time!" she defended herself, "And there is that carpenter who shouts so loud one could hear him from the other side of the plaza." That didn't particularly help, since that is what every merchant does, but she had to retort something. Miranda was slowly beginning to sound and act like herself around these two. Not as scared as before but challenging and provoking, even. That tongue of hers had gotten her into trouble sometimes, though.

Leonardo on the other hand offered an unexpected answer in form of a question: "Is he Arabic?"

Rummaging through her head, the form of the carpenter grew in details. He had been unusual tan and with his thick black hair and brows... "Yeah, I think yes."

"I know him then! He is popular and has many wares of good quality. I bought the green and yellow one from him for my shop." Oh, these she remembered! The green carpet hung from a wall in the living room and it was really soft to touch. The yellow one hung in the atelier.

"Well, Ezio. Owned you."

"I do not understand what you say but I can guess that it wasn't nice to my ego." He grimaced while she smiled mischievously. Leonardo laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

They continued their way, now Leonardo leading them through _'La Serenissima' _- the most serene - as Venice was called by its population. Occasionally they would stop for him to greet others and sometimes engage in a short conversation or dispute. Merchants and noblemen trying to get their sons be taught by him, women batting their eyelashes at him. With the latter, she realized that he wasn't only famous for his genius. They would be throwing looks to Ezio, too – who would be returning the winks. If not busy doing that, he would either describe the place they were in, tell her about good merchants, and sometimes about the person Leonardo was currently talking to.

Other than these little stops, they would also stop at buildings and churches, that were famous or infamous for happenings in the past – at least for her, since she would know bits about what was going to happen to them. Passing by another church with her muttering about its height, Ezio made a whispering comment to Leonardo about jumping into a haystack from there. Having heard that comment, she turned around to face them.

"Why would you jump from a church?" she asked curiously.

"Guards don't like people up there?" he answered as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jumping from somewhere requires climbing. Climbing a building like this would mean he was pretty good at it. Scratch that – _very_ good. Just how many people were practicing this earlier developed form of Parkour?

Another time they stopped to eat because she had skipped breakfast and they were taking their time to their destination. They got bread filled with vegetables from a bakery, something they claimed was a delicacy here. Her first reaction to the food was asking for water. It was really spicy! Ezio and Leonardo did not seem to have problems with it. They told her that spices were popular and one would put them everywhere one could. Miranda wasn't totally on bad terms with spicy food but it would take some time to get used to it.

There on the streets, Emilio's men came into action for the first time: they were beating a merchant. Not only the two men but also everyone in the close proximity seemed uncomfortable at the sight, though they did not move to help the poor man. She would have wanted to but reason held her back, frozen on the spot and watching the procedure. His face wasn't recognizable anymore from all the blood. What could she do, anyway? They were armored, were apparently enjoying beating the man and she would only be the next one. Or worse: get raped first. Reason told her that these actions were normal for this time. Still, it just wasn't right... she ate her bread without real appetite after that.

Then – finally! – they arrived at the plaza. Miranda could already hear the Arabic carpenter shout and see Leonardo smirking knowingly. From here on it wasn't much difficult anymore and she found her alley quite fast.

"What exactly happened?" Leonardo asked her while touching the brick walls.

"It was raining and I couldn't see much. Then some guy runs into me and knocks me over. After that everything happened too fast: I was in an endless white space. When I woke up again, I was lying here." She shrugged helplessly and started her search.

They looked around, trying to find unusual signs, like the ones she had seen, or anything out of place but it was just a normal alley. Cold, boring bricks. A little stream of urine between the cobbled street. Nothing else. After a dozen minutes, they decided to leave, with her insides tightening with hopelessness.

* * *

Another day passed with Ezio sleeping over. He had naturally claimed her room and when she had wanted to sleep that evening she found him cradled on her bed. Leonardo explained to her that it was him that slept in the room most of the time and he was the reason why he kept a guest room at all. He also offered her to sleep in his, while he slept on the sofa but she refused and chose the sofa instead, ignoring his protests. It wasn't her first time falling asleep on one, after all. Even if waking was always a bit more uncomfortable than in a bed. That didn't change 500 years earlier. However, sleeping in his bed was just not alright. Too close to history for her liking if she had to describe it.

With going outside the day before, the current day had passed much more slowly with her staying inside again, somehow killing time. Ezio provided a good distraction once he woke up. Seeing him freshly awake, she realized how tired his eyes had looked before. She wondered how many nights he hadn't slept.

Mostly he would make flirtatious comments and try to make her blush; though he did not succeed because she knew he liked to do these kind of things to anyone considered female. He was strangely friendly with her, leaving her to wonder whether he trusted her or whether he was too bored to care for her being who she was. Leonardo was once again busy, this time in the fearsome basement, and provided no entertainment for him.

Ezio and Miranda were sitting in the atelier, calling the artist whenever someone came to deliver a letter or was trying to reach him any other way. Noon came and oddly enough, Leonardo closed the shop earlier than usually – the first unusual behavior for the next hours. Ezio would start to glance towards the door but otherwise talk like before. Then, about half an hour later, the knocking arrived. It was the same rhythm she had heard before. Ezio stood up, his body tensing, while Leonardo opened the door. A man with dark, long hair and a mustache entered the room. She placed him in his mid-thirties. He was strangely thin and lean, with dark colored clothes that underlined it even more. Ezio relaxed instantly, going over and greeting the man.

Miranda remained passive, sitting on the sofa, waiting for someone to throw her out of the room. She wanted to see as much as possible. The two men talked in hushed tones, until a few minutes later someone knocked rhythmically again. Another man walked in, much younger than the first, maybe around Ezio's age. His face had a paranoid look and he looked over his shoulder twice in a matter of seconds, worried of being watched and followed. Otherwise he looked quite nice, if a bit thin-lipped.

This procedure continued another two times. The third knocking revealed a small but pretty woman with short hair. Then came the fourth knocking. Another tall man with black hair but pale skin entered. She and Leonardo were definitively in the minority with his blond and her red hair among these persons. Every new guest had black hair. Her eyes met the eyes of the newest guest. Brown and grey stared at each other for a moment, then Miranda jumped up.

"_You!_" she cried out, immediately gaining everyone's attention. The young man pointed confused at himself until he realized who stood there.

"Wait, Fiammetta? What a nice coincidence!" he stretched his arms and stepped closer as if to embrace her.

"What the hell are you doing here, you little thief?" That man had almost killed her! It was her right to snap at him. Somehow the attention she gained now seemed tenser than before. Something Miranda had said caused them to glance at each other with alarming looks but she did not realize this until much later.

"Now, now, you had no problems with handling the situation. You climb quite beautifully, I might add." He tried to distract her, disarm her like a dangerous trap because her behaviour was contra productive for them now.

"You provoked them! I could have died!" she wasn't going to back down. Maybe she was exaggerating a bit, she did not care. The first man entered the scene and held his hands up in an excusing way.

"She is the one?" he asked Ezio, who nodded. He continued talking, looking into her eyes:

"I do not know what happened but I excuse myself in his name. He is young, stubborn, and rash in his actions. I hope you can forgive him."

"And be quieter," the thief muttered. A glare made him realize that he was heard. A grin was his answer. Although he made her understand the situation she was in now with this little sentence: it was the moment to be thrown out of the room.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll just leave the room so you can continue your conversation. You want to be alone, I'm disrupting, blah, blah." She _had_ known from the first knocking, from the first hushed speaking, that there was something going on. Just like the blind man delivering something not intended for her eyes and ears. It was impossible not to. She would have liked to tell that idiot, who tried to steal from her, her opinion but the looks she earned right now were disturbing. Even Leonardo had a troubled look on his face and she wondered if they would have knocked her out if she hadn't given in.

Deciding to talk to the thief later, she went out of the atelier, went outside.

Miranda closed the door and sat down, leaning onto the wall, choosing her sitting place wisely and visible from the windows, so they could see her and know that she hadn't run away or something like that. She really must look like a bum right now with her big clothes, too. This was the only way to be able to catch the thief again before he left, though. She wouldn't hear them exit the building if she were sitting upstairs.

Just what was he doing there? It was Leonardo da Vinci's place but... she did not know anything about the man. She found out that he was nice and friendly and knew from books and Internet about his genius, but he could always be involved in some kind of illegal circles. There were conspiracies all over the centuries and would be in the future. This one just seemed so apparent to her because she was living there, and it seemed so much more complicated than everyone made them look.

Her thoughts wandered back to the thief. It was definitely him, she wouldn't forget his face and how he towered above her. Was he some kind of boss? No, it would be the oldest one of them, the first to come in. However, his face... he seemed familiar. She couldn't quite put a finger on it but she knew she had seen someone just like him before... only when? The answer withdrew itself from her.

She dismissed it after failing to track back her thoughts. He knew about her, though. If she was right, then six people, including Ezio and Leonardo, knew about her now. If one of them leaked her secret out... fortune-telling was surely popular among higher ranked people: they would want to know when a war started, want to know how to win it. Her thoughts eventually landed on the name 'Barbarigo'.

This name kept her busy for quite some time. How would his election eventually affect her? She would be trusted, most likely asked about other things. She would be valuable, even, but would she still be watched like this or allowed to walk around more freely? Would these other four take her to live with them or provide a home or would she stay with Leonardo? She didn't dare think about what would happen if he weren't elected. She was very confident – after days of talking it into herself – that he would become _doge_. And then again his brother Emilio. The way people spoke about him, the way Ezio's eyes had looked at his _Palazzo_... Miranda had a bad feeling about it all. Something was going on inside right now, something secret. The woman wondered whether it had something to do with Emilio and the thought didn't leave her head once it had entered, no matter what she did.

Sighing, she changed her sitting position. Miranda had a feeling it would take a long time for them to come out.

* * *

Finally the third chapter is up. School has started and I had to organize a few things, etc. Also researching for this chapter was hell, even if I'm not doing it as thoroughly as one could. I'm always finding articles about the beginning or middle of the 16th century and not the years I need. At least I'm learning alongside: I can safely put pizza into a random chapter, since it already existed - without tomatoes, though. No nice sauce then.

One more thing: I made a little mistake in the previous chapter. Leonardo isn't thirty-five but thirty-three years old! In numbers: 33! Sorry for that, I've corrected it now.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just a little something. Anyone reading this chapter and planning to read on, too, tell me what you like or don't like about it_. _A few words of appreciation or - even better - criticism would be nice. I want to know what I'm doing right and what wrong with this story. Should I keep up like this? Change it a little bit? It all depends on you. :)_

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

"We're counting on you, Ezio. Rest today." Ezio nodded, aware that he didn't know when he would have another chance to do so. Antonio went over to the window, looking outside at the small figure crouched on the ground.

"A little problem remains, which I would like to resolve as quickly as possible," he continued, changing the topic to a not at all less harmful one than the one before, "even if both of you say she can be trusted, we need her to trust _us._ This doesn't seem to be the case." He regarded the black-haired man with a quick side-glance.

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have had met her at all!" He defended himself.

"That is a poor excuse," Rosa said with a blank expression, her head propped up against her hand.

"It might be the best to tell her the truth. Like I said, she surely isn't a spy and she certainly doesn't seem to be from around here," Leonardo spoke up.

Antonio rolled his shoulders. "Tell her about assassinating people? She doesn't have a good opinion of thieves, I don't think that she would like to hear anything about assassins."

"I think she is just angry at _Franco_ alone. It doesn't matter that he is a thief, he got her into a dangerous situation, that is why she is upset. Not that I believe she is one to hold a grudge very long."

Quite the opposite actually. Miranda appeared to be a optimistic person - and a proud one, too. He guessed that her still sitting outside was out of said pride. Or maybe stubbornness was a better word. She had once knocked over one of his color bottles, spilling its content on his table, and instead of calling him to help her clean up, she tried to do it herself. He came back downstairs and helped her then, telling her what to mix the water with to make stains go away. She wasn't embarrassed about spilling the bottle, behaving like a child would when not wanting to show something to its parents but rather trying to not bother him with such trivial things. This was such a case, too. She wanted to do it by herself, wanted to finish the business with Franco and not complicate something for them - or him.

She apologized for the bottle, of course. And he let her fetch a new bottle from a nearby merchant, ignoring what Ezio had been saying about not letting her wander around until she could be trusted. She returned. A bit late because she got lost but she did. Ezio confessed that he couldn't sense any danger from her, too, in the end.

"We still need to do something about it. She possesses knowledge, which could be helpful in the future. And we have her words about Barbarigo. I'm sure she knows - as we all do - that, once her words have been proved, she is free to do whatever she wants, as long as her secret is kept. Threatening her into staying is not what I want. I want her to help us on her own," Antonio said.

"Then tell her the truth! Let her make her decision," Leonardo continued. It was a bit risky but Miranda had nowhere to go and if he reassured her that she wasn't a burden, the chances of her staying would rise. It was only a matter of whether she could accept the work Ezio was doing - and help him do it. Antonio nodded reluctantly, not liking the pace this whole thing went with.

"I'll tell her," Franco offered, "I'll atone for my sins," he added, rolling his eyes.

* * *

A long night, indeed.

Miranda did not know how many hours had passed by now, instinct telling her that it must be long past midnight. She was drifting in and out of sleep, for the only company she had now were the occasional lone drunks that staggered through alleys, shouting nonsense until they got out of audible range. Maybe they fell asleep on the streets, too. Miranda was content with that. Drunks were entertaining if watched from a big enough distance, not as much when close up.

She had been thinking that she would be able to stay awake; her thoughts kept her occupied for a while, yes, but once she reached a dead-end within them, there was nothing more to distract her but the occasional drunken man she already mentioned. Trying to solve mathematical problems she wrote on the ground with her finger, with invisible lines obviously, was only a short solution, for she quickly found herself out of formulas or not really remembering them. Thus, her mind soon ceased functionality, only wishing for rest.

Eventually the anticipated occurred: her thief (actually that thief, whom she had been waiting for!) came out, alone.

Her heavy-lidded eyes did not recognize him as such at first; she might have missed him stepping out of the building completely if he hadn't spoke.

"Heeeey." He snapped his fingers right in front of her eyes, resulting in a glare from her. Moonlight lit their faces, so he should be able to make her expressions out without problems.

Miranda stretched her arms above her head and rolled her shoulders to get a feeling back into the numb muscles. "Took you long enough…" her tongue was heavy from not using it for hours and the words only came out as a mumble. He understood nonetheless.

"If you had missed me, you could have told me so earlier! You didn't need to sit out here in the cold, too."

"I'm going to tell you just how much I _missed _you now…" Miranda tried to put up another good glare, which didn't come out the way she wanted it to. Never mind that it was quite warm outside, he had the nerve to behave this carefree around a person whose blood he might have had on his hands! That thought fed her mostly calmed anger again, although reason spoke up again, saying that this wasn't the 21st century and people treated death differently… maybe.

"Oh, my. Do not hurt me here, there are persons looking. Let us search for a nice place to talk," he hummed and pulled her up.

"Wait, no –" he waved his hand in front of her face, then retreated quickly. Her body sluggishly went after him, every step an alien sensation.

With heavy and insecure steps she kept up with him. He challenged her to a small race. Her body moved on its own, putting the right amount of pressure into every step she took, eventually increasing the speed and running, too, once she saw him disappear around a corner of a small alley.

He had stopped there, arms crossed, head cocked to the side. "Well, you want to tell me something?"

Out of breath and with her body prickling in every place, she asked, somewhat calm: "Why did you do it?"

"Steal from you? I _am_ a thief. It's my occupation."

"No. Why did you yell like that?"

He pondered about her words for a moment. "I had a very bad day. And to make things worse, the woman I try to steal something from defends herself. I lost it then." He sounded sincere, even if there was surely more to tell about his 'bad day'. She wished that the moon would shine here, too, because even with her eyes accustomed to the darkness she couldn't read his facial expression well. Silence spread between them. Miranda sighed. Really, she wasn't one to hold grudges very long. This was because she didn't like others to fight, and even less to cause a fight. That is why she wasn't used to lying, too. And she realized it was more frustration that had been built up within her and released once she had seen him. Frustrated with herself and not knowing anything about this place or how she came here. Frustrated with not being able to get out every day no matter how much she wished for it. Frustrated with the fact that she had to accept the possibility of not returning home again.

She plopped down to the ground, sighing again. "How many know of me? It's kinda dangerous for me if one of you says something about me." Not that she hoped to gain much information from him, she just wanted to try, wanted to change the topic. After this long time it would be quite ironic to be told about what was going on by this man and in a random alley and not by Leonardo or Ezio.

He hesitated for a moment. "Only trustworthy people know about you, don't worry. _If _you're telling the truth then you're in good hands."

"I am..." She mumbled to herself.

"And we believe you are," he continued. No matter how many times she said that, they had their reason to doubt her. It was still very unnerving for her and...

What?

He came closer and sat down opposite her, now finally lit by the moonlight. Another good-looking man - just how many of them were there? Although this one here had the nicest pair of lips out of all of them.

"Miranda Evans," she said and stretched her hand out.

He blinked once, surprised, then took her hand and shook it. "Franco Tiepolo." Sitting in a random alley with Franco, the thief who tried to steal from her, and getting told everything. Yes, irony liked to follow her closely.

"What do you plan to do once Barbarigo becomes _doge_?" He asked. She shrugged. She hadn't come to a good enough conclusion, everything circled around them, the people she met: Leonardo and Ezio and the thief... or thieves? It would be much easier if they decided, although she wouldn't want to be caged like this again. It would be easier to stay with Leonardo, since she already got used to living with him. She could get used to the occasional conspiracies, too.

"You have a choice. If you choose to go, no one will leak out your secret. If you choose to stay on the other side... joyful times await you!" He cocked his head playfully to the side again. That just ruined the mood and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or slap herself. Or him. Oh, the latter sounded rather tempting...

"What do you want from me?" she asked instead.

"Your knowledge, whenever possible. Your help in general. And you would be safer with us than anywhere else." Safe with a thief, whom the guards chased all day long? Yes, sure.

"Who exactly _are_ you?"

"The thieves guild. Ezio isn't a thief, though." He ran a hand through his hair, his brows knitting together. "And here comes the tricky part. I will try to make it sound as pleasant as possible," he paused dramatically, "he is an assassin."

The first thought that came to mind?

_Crap._

Crap, because Miranda clearly remembered her first meeting with Ezio; when she had told him about her origins, told him the truth, worrying that she might alter the future and hoping that she wasn't talking to a... bad person to put it nicely. The worst possible scenario played out. Fate was back to its usual behavior of mocking her._  
_

And Leonardo in between it all. Your everyday 21st century woman knew something about him that any history book on earth did not. And she had wanted to stay with him... she still did, actually. It was enjoyable. But working alongside an assassin? That was _the_ ticket to changing the whole future and she really didn't wish to win that ticket. Ezio was funny and likable. If he weren't a damn assassin... What should she do then? She had nothing here. Nothing and no-one. She regarded the man in front of her intensively. There was nothing wrong about him, nothing in his appearance, in his pose, suggested that he was lying - or he was a really good actor.

Miranda remembered the odd looks they had given her a few hours ago. She had been shouting 'thief this, thief that' - of course they would be alarmed and worried. Still, they didn't threaten her then and they did not now. They could, they knew her secret and they were better with weapons, knew their way around... everything was to their advantage. But they did not choose the easy way. They gave her an option. She could turn around, jump off, run away or however one wanted to call it and no one would be disappointed with her or chase after her if Franco's words were true.

Killing wasn't good. Every child knew that. Stealing wasn't good, too, but with that she could live somehow. It was her turn to knit her brows together. Normally, there would be nothing to think about. She would have declined, not in the least interested in participating in something illegal, just like she declined to start smoking when many of her friends had already started doing so in high school. This time, though, Miranda hesitated.

Against everything she had been raised with, she choose her new path to the future in this very moment, in a random alley, 500 years away from home.

She nodded.

And he understood.

It didn't feel wrong. Yet. Something inside actually told her that she did the right thing. She wasn't sure why she chose to stay and help. Apart from that little voice, telling her that she did good, she felt empty. After another brief moment of silence, she spoke up again. "One question: are you after Emilio?"

"You're quick and thinking along, _bene._ Yes, we are. He will be dead by tomorrow." Now he sounded very serious, even proud, although that could have been her imagination.

Relieving was that Emilio appeared to be a cruel man - she had seen what his guards did and seen how it affected the population of Venice. He _was_ a tyrant. Still, the thought of killing him - and talking about it as if it was nothing - made her stomach twist together. No matter how bad he behaved in front of Venices' population, how bad he treated them... what if he was a loving and dedicated father apart from everything one knew about him? Some things were better left unspoken and if he were to die tomorrow, she would try not to dwell too much on it.

Franco stood, she had been too lost in thoughts to notice it, and helped her up again and still holding her hand he suddenly said: "Fiammetta suits you more." A mischievous smile reappeared on his face, the serious mood completely forgotten.

Taken aback, Miranda smiled insecure, her thoughts still swirling around. "Just what does it mean?" she asked.

"You want to find out? Catch me then!" He grinned broadly and ran off, quickly ascending a ladder she hadn't seen was there.

Surprised by his sudden childish behaviour, she stood frozen on the spot for a long moment. He gave her new options to choose from: stay or return to think about this new mess she got herself into, digest the meaning of it all, or delay it for a later moment and focus on something else, something as simple as finding out the meaning of this new name he had given her.

She ran after him.

Maybe she really was in good hands.

* * *

In good hands, huh?

Scratch that.

Her aching body believed something else, cursed her for doing what she did, for forgiving him at all. It was morning by now. She hadn't slept, no, she had been tortured the whole night – and willingly an onlooker would say. Miranda went after him, trying her best to keep up with him, but it was fruitless work, he was too good. With the right amount of mild provocations he made sure that she followed him wherever he went and did not give up. He forced her through half of the city it seemed, making her jump, dance on thin planks, slip from roof to roof. In his pace, which was far too difficult for her to keep up with. She always thought that she had been quite good at Parkour, obviously better than most, but he proved her _very _wrong. He leaped over impossible gaps, ran tirelessly and overall showed great condition. Miranda on the other hand was out of breath quickly, almost thirty minutes later. She continued with clenched teeth, not complaining – cursing him mentally, though, especially when he provoked and mocked her playfully once again. It was a wonder her body was still intact after this night, because she certainly felt like it would fall apart for a few times.

It proved to be a good distraction in the end, keeping her thoughts away from everything she didn't want to think of yet. Her sore muscles would keep her distracted for the rest of the day, where he wasn't around, too. His crazy pace appeared to be for distracting himself as well as her. She briefly thought that he was nervous about the upcoming assassination but quickly shoved the thought away. _Not yet._

Miranda finally got her hand to move and knock on the door to the atelier, wishing for a soft, cozy bed. God, the floor would be okay, too, if she couldn't reach the bed in her state anymore. The birds chirped loudly from a nearby tree when Ezio's face greeted her.

He was smart enough not to comment on her looks – she didn't want to be told how much she resembled a zombie. He did smile her down, knowing of what she went through. Franco had returned earlier than her, telling him the short version of everything that happened. Too lazy to do anything else, she showed him her middle finger and brushed past him, quickly ascending the stairs and eventually collapsing onto her bed, somehow having managed to get out of her shoes along the way.

Miranda slept for about… well, not long enough, at least. It was late noon outside, so much she could see from her bed. With her head buried in the pillows, the woman stared at the window, wall and blanket that covered her, in a random order. It was the best way of waking up in her opinion: set the clock an hour earlier than needed and stay lazily in your bed for another hour, until you have to get up for real. The problem is not to fall asleep in the meantime, so it worked on weekends most often, when she slept longer anyway.

It wasn't an hour this time, though. She decided that she had to wash her body clean and got her own clothes – the ones she arrived in – to change into, as her new ones had gotten very sweaty over night and smelled like that, too.

As she turned to the door, wanting to vanish in the bath as fast as possible, she saw that her shoes had been neatly put next to the door-frame. A small smile tugged at her lips. She felt like a teenager again. Being outside the evening and a part of the night, then returning home, only thinking of sleeping. Her mother would have prepared her pajamas, in which she sometime wasn't able to change into anymore out of tiredness, and would also place her shoes as neatly to the place they belonged – downstairs, not somewhere on the stairs or in her bed with her.

Miranda tore her eyes from the shoes and tried not to think about it too much. Only awake a few minutes and already depressed and homesick would do no good. The best thing to do would be to stop thinking at all. Too many things she wanted to avoid right now.

With her body cleaned and her clothes drying in the bath, she returned to her room to relax, not able and not wanting to move much in her state. Plopping down on the bed and laying there lazily like a cat - she did that often in fact. Maybe that is why she liked cats more than dogs, for they were most likely to lie down next to her, not bothering her, although everyone told her that dogs fit her personality wise better.

Sometime later, Ezio came into the room, beckoning her to follow him. He did not knock… even if he and Leonardo technically shared an apartment together and he was allowed to do that _then_; there was now a woman living there, too, which meant he wasn't allowed to do it _now._ Even if Ezio seemed like the type of man who didn't care whether a woman could be dressing inside a room or not, rather liked to interrupt them while doing so – and most likely undress them again.

While following him downstairs, she noticed that someone had started to prepare food on the cabinets, but not finished doing so. Everyone ate at different times here and she was to blame, too.

Downstairs stood Franco and she mentally slapped herself, worried that she might have to go on another night-tour with him and his wink in her direction did not calm her at all. Opposite of him, with his back to her and crossed arms, stood a man with brown hair. Even if she couldn't see his face, something seemed very familiar again…

"You understand, right? And please, don't do anything stupid," Franco said to the man, a tinge of worry in his voice. The other person smacked him over the head.

"Of course, _mamma,_" he replied. They were the same height. Just what was so familiar? Ezio turned to her.

"Since Leonardo isn't here yet and I need to go... somewhere, you will stay here and watch him. Yes, _watch_ him. He can tell you more about everything going on, too." Somewhere? She gulped. He was off to kill Emilio. It was really happening and what Franco told her would be true: by tomorrow there would be no Emilio anymore.

She hadn't seen Leonardo the whole day, she realized then. And were they actually already giving her a task? She nodded in response, wondering why she had to watch him. He wasn't dangerous or a captive if he could provide her with more information, right?

The man had turned around by now and stared at her smaller figure. She stared back at him, surprised.

It wasn't the fact that this man was the blind man who had delivered the letter to Leonardo that surprised her. It was his looks. The high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips and the same height, which she had already noticed. Everything was alike with the man beside him...

"Meet Venerio, my brother," Franco said.

* * *

Awkward silence spread between them. Franco and Ezio had left, hurrying to wherever they had to be. Most likely to the _palazzo della Seta._

Her stomach decided to growl just as she introduced herself and she asked him embarrassed, whether he would like to eat something, too. He only nodded.

Now they were upstairs with her preparing the food, which was partly started anyway, and him sitting at the table, watching her. Yes, _watching_ her, really _looking_ at her, didn't matter how mean or impossible that sounded. Miranda concentrated on her knife, grating cheese with it, since she hadn't found a grater yet. What lay on the cabinet was a started salad, most likely a snack to refill Leonardos' energy. She wondered how he could work with only salad in between a warm meal. Especially so long - Miranda would need a coffee to accomplish that.

She decided to add pasta to the salad because she was hungry. With no tomatoes for the sauce, cheese had to take their place.

A torch lit on the wall, oil for lamps was very expensive, lit her working place and another on the railing made it possible for her to glance to Venerio. His hair was brown, with ruffled locks, while his brothers' was black, as ruffled but straight. They must be twins.

"Why can't you go with them?" she asked when the silence started to annoy her. Sometimes she liked the calm but this was awkward. Especially after an exhausting but still enjoyable night with Franco. She just _had_ to ask him to teach her how to climb like he does. It would be helpful if she could pull it off as good as him, right?

"I hurt my leg." He had a nice voice. He pointed at his right leg and pulled his pant leg up to show her a bandage around his lower leg.

"What happened?" She got herself injured quite often, she had her experience. Just as she thought that, she almost cut her. Oh, god bless the grater… and give her one right away!

"A sword fight. I was careless and got injured."

"With whom did you fight?" Sparring was one thing but she couldn't imagine that it would be done with real swords or very serious and dangerous.

He shrugged. "A guard." Oh. Then he must be a thief, too. Or an assassin? Still, more important, he could fight with swords? Nothing against blind people but _how the hell does he do that? _He goes against every prejudice she made.

Silence fell upon them again. It was Venerio who broke it this time. "You don't wish to know anything else?" he wondered,

She wanted the part with Emilio over fast, so no need for further information on him. Although that could mean that they would go onto another target. "What help can I be? Apart from knowledge, I mean."

"We'll see. Your climbing is quite good I've heard, which could be be very helpful, depending on what there is to do. I will train you once my leg heals." So it was helping. Supposedly everyone she met moved around on roofs more often than on the ground. There was one point which didn't sound right, though.

"I don't want to sound rude but… how - I mean you're, uh… blind?" There was no other way to say it and she _was _curious about his blindness. He walked around like any other man, fought with guards and performed Parkour.

"I am. And I'm still one of the best." A small - maybe even smug? - smile tugged at his lips. _Now_ he really looked like Franco. Franco with a wig on, mind you. "I've been told to teach you as much as I can and as much as you wish to know. Ask me about Venice or ask me how to steal - I will tell you. The more you know, the more helpful you are."

That was going a bit too fast in her opinion. She only found out today, less than twenty hours ago to say precisely, what was going on around her and already she was going to be taught the way of a thief? Not to mention that she had a private teacher, too. One with an injured leg at that. There was something very wrong here.

"You're injured," she stated simply.

"I can move. And like I said, I'm one of the best and an injury is only a small hindrance."

"A small hindrance, which bound you to the ground, not allowed to go with your brother." It was out before she could stop herself. Normally, she was a polite woman. A woman, which couldn't keep her mouth shut and this trait had gotten her into uncomfortable situations many times. Miranda clasped her hands in front of her mouth.

Venerio was quiet for a moment. "Why do you have to watch me? Because otherwise I _would_ be outside with my brother," he responded calmly. "Only a small hindrance," he repeated, his determined, milky eyes staring directly into hers, giving his words even more weight.

This was the moment Leonardo came back, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh, good, I'm starving! And _buona sera _(good evening)_, _Venerio. How are you?" Miranda turned her attention back to the salad, letting Leonardo behave like his usual self, while cursing her own stupidity. She would apologize later.

"_Non troppo bene _(not so good)_._ I hurt my leg."

"How long will it take for it to heal?"

"A few weeks."

As the men continued their conversation, she made the final additions to the salad, while the pasta was cooking. Leonardo put new provisions away. She immediately saw the new spices - joy! Note the irony.

Placing the plates and pot down, they began eating, Leonardo complimenting her on her cooking. Pasta wasn't difficult, getting accustomed to the less variations of it was. And of course the lack of some cooking utensils. They talked about current happenings, even topics like a friend sleeping with the ex-girlfriend of his best friend and the tension obviously rising between them because of that. Some things never change. They all avoided talking about the whereabouts of Ezio and Franco. The men didn't seem in the mood to talk about it and Miranda surely wasn't going to bring it up out of fear of saying something wrong again.

Complete night surrounded them very quickly, the torches and candles shining even brighter. Leonardo stood up, mumbling something about cleaning downstairs and saving his works, then disappeared in said direction. Venerio helped her wash the dishes and together they went into the living room, she only stopped shortly at the bathroom to get her clothes out of it and into her dresser. They hadn't said more words than a little 'pass me that plate over there'.

Venerio sat on the windowsill, windows open, and staring outside. A brief glance in her direction was all she got as acknowledge to entering. He was the quiet type, even if more open and talkative when talking with Leonardo, so the silence seemed less awkward and more comfortable now. Partly it was because she had eaten. Miranda, too, propped down on her elbows, looking at the night sky, remembering her second night, when she had done the same. Once her eyes familiarized themselves with the night, she eventually apologized.

"I'm sorry. I was really rude. Waiting is torture and I know that very well." She could see that his shoulders were tense and his eyes moved around, searching, reflecting the light from different angles. Miranda had been waiting for her father to return home like this when she had been a child. Her parents were divorced, nothing more and nothing less. The only oddity being that her father never wanted to see his child again, therefore not caring to fight over the rights with her mother. He disappeared and never returned.

He hesitated briefly. "Yes, it is." She guessed that was an 'apology accepted', too. It felt like that.

Minutes passed, the night progressed. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, once again most likely after midnight, footsteps could be heard. Many and loud, because they were walking on tiles - on roofs! At least a dozen figures danced across the roofs until they split up into three groups with one running towards Leonardo's atelier. It was crazy to do that in the night, not being able to see anything. One wrong step and they would fall!

Venerio already stood, patiently waiting for her, although he was very excited on the inside, and together they went downstairs.

They reached the atelier at the same time the door burst open and Franco, with three others in tow, stormed in, one arm raised in triumph.

"Get the wine! Emilio Barbarigo is dead!"

* * *

After a loooong delay I present you another update! There are various reasons why I didn't update sooner: school, playing the very addicting games Baldur's Gate and Morrowind simultaneously, and minor problems with the length of the chapter. I ended up rewriting most of the chapter and this is the result. It is much, _much_ better than the previous version. Maybe I should rewrite a few parts of the first three chapters, although I think they will work for now.

Finally Miranda has gotten her information and the plot is rolling. We enter the game time-line and uh... I forgot what I wanted to say. Romance is going to develop slowly and Miranda will be included into the game, not too much and not everywhere, since that would be Mary Sue-behavior. Which reminds me: Tell me whether she is one or not. Giving her Parkour can already be considered as a huge step in that direction but I'm trying to not let her be 'overpowered'. She is bad at jumping, remember? She will most likely never surpass Franco or Venerio (and they in turn aren't as good as Ezio). I don't think she will even be on the same level as them.

A little randomness: A thief names Franco actually exists in the game! Not really an important person for the course of the game - he was just a lucky guy that actually got a name. Other than that there is nothing known of him, since he only made a very short appearance (can you guess where?) and his personality is made up purely by me.


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

Italians and wine. That's really some combination.

Full bottles got empty in a matter of minutes. With six men and one woman drinking, it was no wonder. Or rather: five men drinking excessively; one man and one woman drinking moderately. It isn't that difficult to guess who those two are, is it?

Leonardo wasn't one to get drunk. He had work to do every day and the best way to accomplish everything he planned in his head was to stay as sober as possible. Or at least wake up without a hangover the next morning. Also, he preferred to have a clear mind on such occasions, especially since he had seen men doing _very_ strange things when drunk.

Miranda drank a half glass out of politeness. She did like to drink a bit here and there but she had to watch out not to overstep her limit. She got drunk fast in comparison with others. Especially compared with these men here. In addition, opposed to these men, she wasn't in a party mood because someone – no matter how cruel he was – died. It just wasn't right. She wouldn't have drunk and partied if George W. Bush would have died, too, even if she hated that man. That he stopped governing was enough. Finally stopped, one might add.

Anyway, interesting was that the damned Italians just couldn't get drunk!

Miranda knew, to some extent, how strong this wine here was. If one could call it so. This liquid didn't even have the same deep red color a wine had, but was brighter and more clear. It tasted like grapes but reminded her very much of the Balkan drink named Slivovitz - whose alcohol content could reach up to 80%. She drank a 60% version once and – god, _that _was strong! She guessed this 'wine' here might be from that region as well. And here there were three bottles full of it passed around. Full of a drink one usually drank from very small glasses.

Usually.

I mean, who needs glasses? Drink directly from the bottle! And if not; take the normal sized glasses and fill them to the brim. _Then _drink them in one gulp. Only then you're a man!

Yes. Sarcasm.

So, three bottles were emptied in what, less than half an hour? She didn't even realize when she had gotten a filled glass in her hand. Or knew where the bottles came from at all. These thieves really knew their way around Leonardo's atelier...

Smiling insecure she toasted halfheartedly along and took a few sips, feeling the familiar strong, burning sensation in her mouth, barely even able to gulp it all down. She quickly forced her glass onto Venerio, who drank the rest then. Poor Leonardo, for his wine supply was decreased by some of the most vluable ones, as she would later learn.

The woman quickly escaped upstairs after that, leaving the very happy men to themselves. Upstairs she drank a few glasses of water because that was the nearest thing available at the moment. The drink already got a bit to her head. Not too much, which was good, but it was more than enough. She couldn't take that much, after all. She hid in the living room and stretched out on the sofa again like so many times before. She really enjoyed lying around this way, spending her time in her daydreams.

An hour later it got louder downstairs and Miranda decided to stay here because she definitely didn't want to join the newly formed choir in the atelier. It amazed her how happy they could be. A man died and they rejoiced this much about it. It was the dark middle ages, she reminded herself. Someone dying or being murdered was an everyday kind of thing. History books _always_ make it sound okay and reasonable: Tyrant xy is executed in publicly; the people make the day a special holiday and finally don't have to starve anymore. Everyone is happy and he was a bad person, too, so why wouldn't they be? But for people to _wish_ other peoples' deaths... maybe some do deserve it, but to think that a person was able of such thoughts was horrible in her opinion.

She only saw a glimpse of what life under Emilio Barbarigo had been like and that was not a pleasant view she had gotten. He might have been one of those that deserved to die. But who would be next? With a shiver, she remembered the burnings of witches. Would the next one be another tyrant, abusing the people, deserving to be killed as much as the one before? Or would it be a normal person with unpleasant flaws, even innocent, who lost his live just because of the bloodlust of humans? How many people killed because of greed, because of power? Who could say if the person really deserved death? In the nobles' eyes Ezio was surely a threat that they had to get rid of but in the eyes of the lower population he was just and a hero. Somehow even the tale of Robin Hood got a new meaning.

Miranda didn't like to dwell on such disturbing thoughts. It was even more disturbing that she actually made a deal to help the people who were the killers. And not too long ago, even. It was happening all too fast. _Get used to it,_ she thought. That wasn't reassuring either, since getting used to killing wasn't exactly the way she wanted to live. But the way she wanted to live - a normal life, seen from 21st century standards - wasn't normal here in the Renaissance, anyway. It wasn't possible. Miranda groaned. Why did ieverything have to be so complicated?

She didn't realize how far the night had progressed and did not know since when the shouting and singing from downstairs had started outside. Miranda got up and moved to the window. Looking outside, she saw the sun slowly rising on the horizon. It must have been much later than she thought when Franco returned. The sun illuminated crowded streets, which reflected the light in various colors from various small puddles. Alcohol puddles. People weren't content with partying alone or inside. The streets were crammed as she had never seen them before in her time here. And the men and women weren't hurrying anywhere but standing around, drinking, singing, hugging each other. Dancing just came along.

Below the window was a group of drinking middle-aged men. Red faced, laughing, yelling. One of them crying and shouting something about justice. Ezio was just and a hero in their eyes, indeed. She shook her head and smiled faintly, then turned around, pushing herself away from the windowsill.

Her eyes met Leonardo's surprisingly, who just entered the room and closed the door behind him. He came forward and sat on the armrest of the sofa, facing her, who then leaned back onto the windowsill, crossing her arms.

"Fleeing from having to clean up the mess?" she asked him, still smiling subtly. Outside it was loud but from downstairs she couldn't hear a sound. Either they slept or had went outside.

"Don't make me remember… I had to throw them out before they found the rest of my wine. And I almost stepped into glass twice. Luckily I have removed everything of worth before." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Yeah, I remember... you were quite sure that they wouldn't fail then?" It irked her to say it. If she had to get used to killing than she had to know how. Maybe he could give her an answer.

"Killing Ezio is a difficult task. I've seen him injured many times but never has he been in critical condition. I believe in him." He looked into her eyes. The meaning behind his words was true and sincere. And she guessed she could ask him about anything and he would answer her honestly - because he was the same as her in a way.

"Why? Don't you doubt him sometimes?"

He contemplated his next words. "He is my friend very first before he is something else. He has never tried to involve me any more than needed - I decide how much I want to be. You don't need to trust him, nor do you need to trust me or anyone as much as I do. You don't have to put faith into someone so blindly, so the only thing I can say to answer your question: I trust him. How can I doubt my best friend, who was always good to me?"

She knew what he meant. She believed in her best friend, too, as she trusted her. Miranda would trust her unconditionally and if she said that something was okay or she found a new place to go to, Miranda didn't ask her much about it, but went along. She trusted her as much as Leonardo trusted Ezio. She tried to change characters. What if Juliette was Ezio and told her that this man deserved what he got? She would believe her. Miranda knew that in reality she would have tried to play on her guilt but if she really had to roleplay the life of a 15th century woman, who had seen and experienced different things than her, then she guessed that she would have believed her.

"I trust you," she suddenly said. If she wanted to have an easier time deciding what to do, then she would have to. And she really did. She knew him for a short time, yes, but she knew enough about him to do so. How many times had she said that he was a friendly and funny man? There was more to it than only that.

His eyes widened in surprise for a second, then he smiled. "I'm honored. Interested in becoming my assistant then? I need one. You would be paid, of course. Also, it would make it easier to explain as to why you are living here with me."

What an abrupt change of topics. She went along, the previous one had been checked off. "Well, why not? Don't have anywhere else to go anyway."

He placed his arms on hers. "Great! You can then start right away with cleaning the atelier from todays's drinking bout."

So much for friendly man.

* * *

Surrounded by fellow thieves, Ezio followed the four men with a respectable distance, careful to not get spotted. He pulled his hood up when they stopped in the middle of the street at a well. A bulky man clad in red and black, also with his hood up, approached them with a rapid pace. Ezio inched closer to listen in to the conversation, while his friends kept watch.

The bulky man spoke up angrily: "Enough with your inane prattle! The choice of _doge_ was never up to any of you. And you were never given permission to make plans!"

Marco Barbarigo bowed his head in shame. "Forgive us, _maestro_. We wish only to serve." What a bootlicker. It disgusted him. Ezio and the thieves' guild had kept their eyes on him ever since Miranda told them about his election. So he knew what this man was like.

The former man continued without listening to Barbarigo. "The plan is this: _Doge_ Mocenigo will die tonight. And once the deed's been done, Marco shall take his place."

Marco once again bowed, this time more gracefully. "_Vo ringrazio umilmente, maestro_. (I humbly thank you, master)"

Silvio Barbarigo tried to speak up, angry about his inferior position opposed to his brother, but didn't came to a word as the Spaniard – Ezio guesses this man was whom they had been calling by that name – continued speaking. "Good! _Messer_ Grimaldi. You are closest to Mocenigo, your work the most vital. Serve us well and it won't be forgotten. Walk with me." He, too, bowed his head before him like a loyal dog and let himself be lead on. Ezio beckoned the thieves to help him blend into the crowd once more and followed the men.

Marco Barbarigo was going to become doge. Miranda had been telling the truth.

And they had no time to waste.

* * *

She had a fine, paid job at last. If it were by 21st standards it would seem perfect: not far away from her living place, a friendly boss and seemingly easy work.

Seemingly.

Four days ago, when Leonardo described what she had to do it sounded quite easy and simple. Next to the usual house chores, which would be divided between them, anyway, and especially cleaning the atelier there was the artistic part of an assistant: usually an assistant would have this job so he could observe his idol's way of working, of painting. This she didn't want to, so she wouldn't actually need to help him paint something, although she would sometimes have to mix the colors together, prepare him a scaffold or see if the brushes weren't too exploited, otherwise she would have to fetch new ones. He would occasionally ask for her opinion, which always made her very nervous. What good opinion could she offer? She tried her best, though.

Other than that, Miranda played the errand girl, as well: she had to get cloth, thread and so on for him. Paper and ink and feathers. Books. Various Tools, whose names or use she often didn't exactly know. She would ask him someday later about them. Maybe she would recognize the modern equivalent of them then.

Also, the usual for which Leonardo was sometimes too busy: water plants, adjust them into new light, oversee their growth since he didn't always have the time for it. And, of course, cleaning up the atelier, but that she already mentioned.

Cooking they split – whoever wanted to. Cleaning upstairs was split as well, he didn't want her to be a 24/7 maid for him and for everything. She was his assistant and that meant only restricted to work in the atelier. Anything else was just her and him living together and to be treated differently.

And work wasn't exactly easy. She had to get him a new brush that had to have the same look and thickness as the old one on her very first working day, since one of the thieves got their hands on the old one and Leonardo couldn't draw with it anymore, because the ends were sticking out in every direction. The store he sent her to was... let's say it was even more chaotic than Leonardo's atelier. Trying to describe it was beyond her capability. Miranda spent a whole two hours finding that one brush. Maybe the store was in that state because of the 'party' that morning. Everything was turned upside down because of it. The happy and laughing men and women turned into revengeful beasts, harassing the guards that had harassed them before. They spit on them, threw vegetables or even beat them, if heavily drunk. Miranda quickly hurried back, worried that she might get dragged into some fight or other.

All in all a job that kept her very busy. She was standing, walking, moving all day long - much more so than sitting. Well, she didn't ever want to do an office job, so that is what she got.

Venerio visited them everyday, watching her work her arse off, once being shout at to help, too. That was when Leonardo finished many orders at once and wanted them delivered. God, that was hell. It it weren't for Venerio, she wouldn't have had ever found at least one receiver.

Anyway, back to topic. Venerio was here slouching on the sofa in the atelier again, watching Miranda to annoy her into asking him about something to teach her. They really wanted her to help them. And he was stubborn. He didn't force her but his whole presence was an annoying temptation. She didn't talk to him about anything because she wanted to repay Leonardo for the first weeks of freeloading and taking care of her. She owed him that much.

Today, four days later, she finally asked him.

"What do I _need_ to know?" She approached him.

He pondered for a moment, closing his eyes. "Self-defense. Do you know something about it?"

"Uh, not really… we won't have to fight with swords, will we?" She didn't want to get bruises on her very first 'training day'.

"_No_. First you need to train your body."

"Then… okay, I guess?" He was satisfied and she would get something useful out of it. Self-defense was always useful.

They asked Leonardo for permission – how childish she felt – who granted it. Then they went outside, crossed the small plaza in front of Leonardo's working place until they were in a small garden with lush grass and an exit towards the river. A gondolier on an empty gondola passed by them with slow strokes.

It was fairly early, not yet midday and a bit cooler than usually. But nothing that she couldn't take on with her body, who was familiar with cold London weather. They stood across each other for a moment, both mustering the other. Then they started training immediately and without much of a warning or explanation.

"What do you do when…" he came closer and she improvised some kind of defense stance, her arms guarding her head.

That was obviously utterly useless.

He feigned to hit aim at her stomach and instead tripped her, catching her right arm in the process, yanking it up towards him, pulling her along. She was saved from falling only for him to appear behind her a split-second later, bending the arm roughly behind her back and joining her left arm with the right one just as roughly.

"... I do this?" He finished his sentence.

Miranda then tried the same thing she had with his brother some time ago: stomp at his feet. Venerio dodged it easily. He kicked her in the back of her knees, making her fall down on them, and held one foot on her back, stretching her arms towards him. Pain erupted instantly from different places in her body and her new clothing – a red tunic – was dirtied already. Great.

"Waving the white flag. If I could. Imagine it," she said through clenched teeth. She could practically feel her back break from the pressure. Or her arms jump out of their sockets. He didn't move. "I give up," she simplified.

He let go and just as he was about to step away, she got up and rammed him with her head. Aim for the stomach! It was a dirty trick, but hey - she didn't want to lose_ that_ badly.

There wasn't much strength behind it, though, since she didn't get enough speed from starting from a sitting position. He only staggered a bit. He then pushed her head down forcefully, making her fall flat on her face – and sat down on her. God, was he heavy! He didn't look like it at all!

He didn't get up either. "I won't try anything anymore…" Miranda mumbled.

"Hm?" She could practically _feel_ the smug grin on his face. He was enjoying himself way too much. Lies in the family, huh?

"You've got determination. That's good. But that's all there is to it," he said and stood up. Then he helped her up.

The beaten woman dusted her clothes and face off, noticing the beautiful green and brown stains on the former.

"You're lucky I'm holding back, otherwise your idea would have ended very dangerous. It would have been much easier to hit your face with my knee, rather than pushing your head down. I could have broken your nose in the process, too, if I hit you right."

Well, crap. Was that really possible? She shivered at the thought. Add a few loose teeth and everything was perfect.

Seeing that he would need to start from scratch, he began to teach her the basics. A fist coming at you? Dodge it if you can. Block, catch, deflect it to make a counter-attack easier. He showed her how to stand correctly and how to turn the wrist. And if she wanted to block an attack, she needed to stop fearing the pain. Contract your muscles to avoid great pain – especially in the stomach area it would proof helpful. He taught her everything at random, just the way he remembered it, like 'Oh, by the way this and I forgot to say that'. No pattern at all. She wasn't sure whether that was an efficient way of teaching but she tried to follow his lessons as good as she could and take everything in.

To stop her body from reacting on its own was very difficult, though. She _was_ worried of not catching or blocking his fist, breaking her fingers in the process and always curled together or ducked in the last moment. She actually did almost break her fingers because she collided with his fist from a very bad angle with a lot of force. So much for 'stop fearing'.

A few children came by to watch her fruitless training. They knew Venerio, called out and waved at him. He returned the gestures.

At a break about two hours later, another gondolier passed and regarded her with a pitiful look. She was dirty, tired already and had many bruises, which she had tried to avoid. While kneading her shoulder, Venerio said the dreadful words:

"You need a lot of training. We'll continue this not only today." Did she just subscribe to something? NO!

Just as she opened her mouth in protest, a young man ran up to them.

"_Signorina_ Miranda?" Huh? He came for her?

"Yes, that's me."

"Please come with me. We need to hurry."

"What's going on?" She looked back and forth between Venerio and the man, who was one of the thieves she guessed - he had the same paranoid look on him as the ones she had seen before, except the Tiepolo brothers maybe. Venerio did not seem to know what was going on either and the man only shook his head, clasping his hands together just like in a prayer.

"I will explain on the way, please, we need to go!" With an apologetic look, but mentally rejoicing to be able to flee from training, she followed the man, who soon quickened the pace to running through the streets.

They ran, watching out not to run into someone, avoiding the guards with great care. She was out of breath after a short while but they kept running at full speed for about fifteen minutes and more.

They arrived at a huge plaza with stands and entertainers here and there. The whole place was buzzing with life more so than other parts of the city. It was also mostly populated with men and women of higher classes, she observed. The thief slowed down, looking around, searching for something or somebody. She guessed this was the moment she could finally ask about what was going on. He had been in a hurry the whole time and she didn't get to ask in the end.

"What is going on now, really?" she asked, breathing heavily and barely able to finish the question. Her sides hurt, too. Joy.

"Antonio and Ezio sent for you. We're supposed to meet them here at the palazzo as soon as possible. Can you see one of them?" They sent for her? Why not come themselves? She looked around, too, curious but still cautious about what they would want from her. She spotted the black hair of the lean, tall man.

"There!" she said, one finger extended towards Antonio's figure. They went over to him. Antonio whispered a few words to the thief, resulting in him distancing himself but still standing near enough to keep an eye on them and ready for everything. Miranda looked up to Antonio with a puzzled look on her face.

"Do you know _anything_ about this building?" he held her firmly by the shoulders, his head nodding to the right of her. He seemed very worried. She looked. No, she _gaped._

Of course she knew this building as a former art student. _Palazzo Ducale di Venezia. _The Ducale Palace.

The _doge's_ Palace.

How she did not see this huge building when arriving was beyond her. "Well, a bit. Don't know _everything._"

"That bit will hopefully prove helpful."

What could she say? "What do you want to hear? That it got badly damaged by a fire? About it's architectural features? What other buildings were inspired by this one?" I mean, really: What _did_ he want to hear from her?

"We need to find a safe way inside this building." 'We' meant him and the thieves, most likely Ezio, too. Wait. This was the _doge's _palace...

"No. No, no, no." She tried to push his arms away but he held her firmly.

"Marco Barbarigo is going to be _doge_. We need to prevent that," he pressed on.

"NO!" A few heads turned around to look at them. She turned her volume down. "You can't just change history!"

"If he becomes the _doge_, then the wrong men will get too much power in their hands! They will have all of Venice in their grasp – especially the military. Marco Barbarigo is planning to murder the current _doge_ to get that power. We want to prevent that from happening. Another Emilio is not what we want." Another tyrant Emilio or to kill another Emilio? She bit back that question.

"Wait. You're not killing Barbarigo?" So Marco Barbarigo isn't _doge_ yet. Who is inside this building then... something... Mocenigo. Mocenigo was the one before him, right?

"No, we're not." Stop, Miranda. Think. Barbarigo wants to murder the current _doge_. If he succeeds, then he would become the _doge_ of Venice, just like history tells us. If not, he won't become _doge_. What if the current one died because of an illness? Then he would become one again. What had she thought again a few days before? People wanted other peoples' deaths. Barbarigo wanted Mocenigo's death. Was Mocenigo one to deserve it? Or was he innocent?

She let her head hang down. Barbarigo wanted to kill. Antonio wanted to prevent it from happening. If he succeeded, would history change? Could he succeed? Or had history set a special course and this was supposed to happen anyway? Why did she have to asociate with assassins of all the people she could have met! She gulped. Her heart clenched together. Leonardo trusted Ezio. And Miranda had put her trust into Leonardo to avoid thinking too much about such situations. He would tell her it was okay to help him. And she would believe him.

"I really don't know anything about secret passages. I can't recall if someone ever tried to break into this either and succeeded." She told the truth. Even if she wanted to help now, she couldn't do more than this.

"_Niente_?"

"Nothing. Can't you climb?"

"The walls are too even. Also, there are too many guards. And archers around the roofs and on itself, too." Ezio's voice was suddenly at her ear. She jumped up in suprise.

"Why don't you wait until it's night? Maybe it's less guarded then."

"Mocenigo is going to die today. We don't have time to waste with waiting!" Antonio said annoyed and turned around, throwing his arms up in irritation.

There had to be a way. There was no modern security, only humans. With weapons, mind you, but still. Sleeping gas? She did not know whether it was already developed. Couldn't they kill their way through to... no. She never thought of that idea. Forget it. A parachute would be nice but they would need to jump off from somewhere high and she doubted that the nearby tower was enough. God, she was looking too many action movies.

A jongleur lost a ball and startled the nearby pigeons. They flew up into the sky and over the building. Antonio made an angry comment about birds.

"You need to fly…" she slowly said. Of course! Not fall down but fly! Her eyes met Ezio's, who had the same look of realization on his face.

"Leonardo's flying machine!" she whispered to him. Ezio embraced her heartily and spun her around, laughing.

"Where are you going?" Antonio asked Ezio, who pulled Miranda along. Her heart beat very fast. Ezio had the same idea. She couldn't judge her actions yet. But soon she would see the result of it all.

"To see my friend Leonardo."

* * *

Yeah, I'm alive.

Sorry for not updating for so long. The chapter was actually finished on time but I decided that it needed to be rewritten a bit. In the end some crucial parts got rewritten drastically and this is the result of it. But I didn't find the time to do so in the beginning - even though I had vacation - since said first week of vacation was very busy for me. I'm really very, very sorry.

I hope everything came across the right way in this chapter. First ingame talk, too. I actually forgot that Mocenigo was going to be murdered that fast. That's one of the crucial parts that needed to be done again as soon as possible. And finally more screentime for Leonardo! Also, I don't know anything about fighting or self-defense, so if I'm writing something very wrong, tell me.

And once again: don't feel too shy to review and say 'hello'. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

Already the second time in less than an hour, Miranda was running through the maze of streets of the city named Venice. She briefly wondered how they must look like: one running ahead with a wide grin on his face, another with a grumpy and doubting look and the last one with dirt-stained clothes, her mouth open wide to inhale as much air as she could.

Suddenly Antonio dashed off into another street and she, unsure of what to do, called out to Ezio who was almost out of sight. He turned around and beckoned her with a wave of his hand to follow him. He slowed down so she could catch up and kept this slower pace up to make it easier for her.

After another fifteen minutes of running back the same way she came from, or so she guessed, they finally got back to Leonardo's atelier. By now Ezio wasn't grinning anymore but had a hopeful and expectant look on his face. Her sides hurt even more and she stumbled through the door panting heavily.

While Ezio instantly approached Leonardo, Miranda steered in the sofa's direction. Who knows when she is going to get another chance of sitting and resting? She withstood the urge to let her mouth hang open wide just like a dog.

Ezio pointed towards the flying machine, bubbling on and on, taking Leonardo by surprise with his demand.

"Does. It. Work. Leonardo. Can it really fly?" he pressed on, excited and impatient. Leonardo started an explanation, that he didn't know that for sure and Miranda cut him off midway.

"It does," she simply said between breaths. It had been tested and proved in her time and proved to have worked. As far as she knew one hadn't altered something from his original blueprints to get it to function. Both men regarded her for a second or two, then looked back at each other. Ezio nodded.

"Let's try it out." It was her turn to stare at him for a few seconds. Just like that? He believed her. That thought instantly flashed through her mind. _Just like that,_ she repeated mentally surprised. He really believed her words now.

Leonardo's head snapped back at him. "No! It's too dangerous, no matter what you say!" The last part was directed at her. "To test it, you'd have to leap off a tower! Who would be mad enough to do a thing like that?" Just as he finished his sentence, he himself realized what he just said – and to whom.

Ezio smiled smugly. "I think you just found your madman."

Half an hour later they were on top of a tower. And they didn't even climb it for once, since Leonardo couldn't do so, but used the stairs like every normal mortal would do. What every normal mortal wouldn't do was what Ezio was planning to do, though.

Seeing him stand there with that giant construct, she worried for him. Yes, it had been tested. But surely with some kind of safety arrangements. Parachutes, testing it somewhere where falling wouldn't hurt, something to catch the falling person and so on. Now she understood Leonardo's concern. They stood on top of the highest tower in Venice and if Ezio did a little mistake, he would crash into one of the many buildings standing close together or somewhere onto the crowded street. She didn't dare think of it and and shuddered. As she glanced to Leonardo, she saw the same worry stuck to his face.

Ezio's voice brought her back to reality. "So, how does she work?" Miranda saw the worry from Leonardo's features vanish and be replaced by… something along the lines of fascination, admiration and adoration. His eyes gleamed as he spoke.

"Have you ever watched a bird in flight? It's not about being lighter than air… it's about grace and balance! You must use your body's own weight to control your elevation and direction." He continued talking and explaining what Ezio had to do, how to put his weight to good use. Miranda just listened and closed her eyes for a minute as well when doing so. This was the true Leonardo da Vinci, the one history books talked about. Even if it was only a glimpse of his thoughts she got in that moment, they entranced her. It was like another man was talking and not the one she got to know over the past few weeks. When he ended his speech, she knew how much more he could say in that moment but he did not. He added only three more words as Ezio adjusted himself at the edge of the tower.

"Good luck, Ezio."

Ezio took a few steps back, then ran forward. She saw his grip tighten on the horizontal wooden bar and then... he jumped off.

Miranda quickly went towards the edge, not daring to miss a thing. Leonardo was at her side. And he, too, gaped at the sight before him.

Ezio _flew!_ He really flew! Every worry disappeared immediately in that moment and as the man and the woman on top of the roof locked gazes, both grinned and Leonardo embraced her as heartily as Ezio did before, if not more. His relief was transferred into this embrace. They jumped excitedly, laughing, then realized where they stood and took a step back, away from the edge. Eventually they turned their eyes back to the sky and the small point in the sky named Ezio. Leonardo still had his arm around her waist, just as she had one around his.

Suddenly the point lost height. First not notably, he only staggered a bit. Then all of a sudden, he fell - she guessed about twenty or thirty metres, for he was very close to the surrounding buildings' roofs now - but caught himself and raised himself up again a few metres. She felt Leonardo's hand and body next to her tense up. Then Ezio fell again, out of sight beyond a building – and this time he did not rise up. They stood there silently for minutes, waiting, hoping... but there was no sign of Ezio.

Miranda turned around to run back down and pulled Leonardo along who was still standing there rooted on the spot. It was a miracle that they did not trip and fall down the stairs, this fast they were running. She briefly noticed that this was now the third time she was running today but she quickly shoved that thought away, just as quickly as the stairs rushed past her eyes. She just ran, subconsciously hoping her instinct would direct her to the right place.

She did not think at that moment. The only thing she forced herself to was to run and keep her now sweaty hand around Leonardo's wrist to keep him running as well, not allowing him to stop. Her breathing, heavy and uneven out of fear. The only thing she could hear was her heart beating fast and loud and their combined footsteps meeting the stone.

Ezio believed her. That was what made her heart tear up and her fear grow. Screw the idea of altering the future, it was his idea to test this thing out, too, but _she _encouraged him to fly. She hadn't altered the general future yet but she altered _his_. If it hadn't been for her he would have never tried it, would have found another way. Now he was… dead? And that by her hands. A mental image of her towering above Ezio with bloody hands popped up in her mind. Emilio's death was a whole different matter compared to the feelings she had now. Everything in her head spun around.

Leonardo tugged at her arm, wanting her to slow down, but she did not respond. He tugged harder and made her stumble but she quickly found her balance back. Just as she was about to turn around and cry, shout, flee, punch him - she did not know which -, she crashed into someone.

"S-sorry…" she mumbled and rubbed her nose. She had crushed into something very hard. Some kind of armor, that much she was certain.

"Why the hurry?" the man asked her. She looked up. And literally threw herself at the person.

"…You're alive!" Miranda barely brought out. She heard a nervous and relieved laughter behind her, guessing that it was coming from Leonardo.

"Didn't know you like me this much. Sorry to worry you," Ezio said and patted her head. Her heart was still beating wildly but at least her mind was at ease now.

She looked up to his unscathed face. "How did you…?"

"EZIO! Don't hold her that way! She'll break!" What? It was she who was holding _him_. He couldn't mean her... oh, of course!

"So glad to see that you, too, care about me, Leonardo."

She laughed as Leonardo pulled the flying machine – the other female here – out of his hand that didn't pat her head. Ezio let go of her, Miranda in this case, and helped Leonardo carry the machine, oblivious to the stares they were getting _again_.

Only then did she realize… that Ezio was dripping wet.

When it dawned on her, she didn't need to look down at her anymore to confirm her suspicion. The feeling of soaked clothes on skin told her everything she needed to know.

Ezio shouldered the back part of the machine and patted her shoulder once in a way that said 'Shit happens'.

* * *

Back inside the atelier their worried - and Miranda's revengeful - mood changed to a happier one. Miranda ran up to change into new clothes, _finally_ one might add, and when she got back downstairs, she saw a very excited Leonardo pacing up and down, moving every limb he could to express him and his joy.

"It worked! It really worked! You flew, Ezio! You flew!" Leonardo radiated a lot of positive energy in that moment.

"_S_ì, but not very far. If it weren't for the water I wouldn't have had lived very long, too."

Leonardo ignored the last part elegantly. "What were you expecting? The machine wasn't designed for distance." Ezio shot him a small glare. In her opinion that look suggested that he could have told him that a tad bit earlier.

Indeed, he could have.

But he did not.

Now the question left was: was it on purpose? Leonardo had a queer sense of humor, after all. Seeing him stand and watch Ezio flying and falling worriedly the way he did, she guessed that he did not know that Ezio expected to actually fly like a bird.

Leonardo finally gave in to Ezio's glare and wordless pleading. "Alright, look, let me go over my plans here. Maybe I can find some way to extend the duration of the flight." Miranda leaned on the door frame when Leonardo gestured for her to come closer. "Maybe you can help me."

Ezio sat down on the floor, not wanting to wet anything else and not wanting to leave the room to get himself a towel. He pulled his hair tie out of his hair and ruffled it a bit. It was quite a pleasing sight to see him like this. Not only because the wet clothes underlined his trained body but because she gained satisfaction from seeing him like this after his patting on her shoulder and that pitiful look he shot her. She didn't actually mean it as mean as it sounded, she wasn't that revengeful and she hadn't forgotten that she could've had killed him, but he had started it. That he wanted to take her thought away from her worries was obvious and she only thanked him by behaving like this, in a way.

Leonardo was busy skimming through his blueprints and Miranda focused her eyes on the flying machine lying on the L shaped tables in front of her.

It – no, _she_ – hadn't gotten wet like Ezio, that means he must have jumped off and managed to make _her _land on firm ground. Quick thinking in that moment. She carefully touched the wooden construct and quickly turned off every other thought. Since she was from the future, Leonardo hoped to get to a quick solution with help of her advanced knowledge. Well, sorry to disappoint you. She did not know what to do know. She would try, though.

Inspecting it from different angles, she noted that the flying machine looked a lot like a dragon or a bird. No, a bat even maybe.

Regarding it from afar, Miranda hoped to get an idea. _She_ technically _was _only a glider. There was no way to include a rotor in such a short amount of time. As far as she knew, they couldn't afford to lose any more of said time. And electricity was a no-go. Pulling it along, just like a hang-glider maybe? ...No. Construct a little fire, just like a balloon? But where? Ezio would get burned before he arrived anywhere and it would be impossible to maintain the speed that way. Why couldn't they start pushing Ezio off from somewhere closer, anyway? Oh, wait, she got that answer already from him: _'climbing the walls undeteced right now is nearly impossible. They would spot us immediately. Plus, there are no high enough buildings nearby.'_ Back to finding a solution then... what about flapping wings? She mentally slapped herself. As if, Miranda, there's even less time for that. If it was possible at all.

The woman noticed a small hole on the left side of the flying machine, on one of its wings. So it got damaged after all. She inspected the wings further, looking for more holes or other type of damage when Antonio threw the door open. Not much time had passed, a couple of minutes at most.

"Ezio! My men tell me Carlo has the poison. We must hurry."

"Who's Carlo?" she asked casually, her eyes still fixed on the machine.

"Carlo Grimaldi. The one who is going to kill the _doge,_" he answered quietly. That much she gathered from the poison part already but she didn't continue asking. Leonardo didn't listen at all, he was too observed in his papers and too far away to hear them whispering. He hadn't even bat an eyelash when Antonio had stormed in like that.

"Why are you looking like that?" Antonio asked Ezio, who by now stood.

"Ask that Leonardo, the inventor of this… this…" almost not audible he finished his sentence, "_pezzo di merda. _(Piece of shit.)_"_

This time Leonardo did hear it. "Hey! It's not the machine's fault - it's mine! I've checked and rechecked my blueprints. It's just impossible! I don't know how to extend the flight! Ah, _che idea del cazzo! _(Crazy fucking idea!)_"_ He shoved his book with blueprints off the table but not without pulling out one paper, crumpling it together and throwing it into the fire. It took Miranda a moment to realize what he just had done. _No, no, no! You can't do that! That's history! No, future!_, she thought desperately. Leonardo slumped down into an armchair he always kept downstairs next to his wooden ones, clearly annoyed with himself. Not even two seconds later he was up again.

"EUREKA! Of course! _Genio!_" He searched for an empty sheet of paper and she quickly got him a feather to write with and a bottle of ink. Ezio and Antonio were looking perplexedly at what was going on. Miranda heard Leonardo mumble something about heat and rising. That thought she had already and decided to intervene before something seriously bad happened.

"One fire won't do. You'll kill Ezio and even though he will maintain height, there will be no speed behind his flight."

"Not one fire, Miranda. A dozen! Built all across the city!" He got a map of Venice from under his desk and placed black ink dots on it. Starting from the tower they went to this morning, all the way to the _Palazzo Ducale_. Six pairs of eyes followed his quick hand moving around and Miranda once again was given another opportunity to grasp this mans genius. She had had the same idea. She had the advantage of being from the future and learning such things early on in school. But he was _developing _these things. Another person, and she meant her average self and her advantage called modern times, would have needed more time to get this kind of idea - and to have it planned out in a matter of seconds like him was nearly impossible. Every dot he set on the map was right and did not need further changing as she would find out later that day.

"Oh, _capisco!_ My men could do that… but you're forgetting about the guards," Antonio said.

Ezio pulled his wet hair back into a pony tail. "Don't worry. I will take care of them."

* * *

The rest of the day she helped Leonardo fix and improve the flying machine. He tested the wings sturdiness by letting Miranda hold fire closer and closer to them, watching when they would have problems. He gently brushed every dust particle away and made the holding grip sturdier and better to hold. She had gotten an estimated amount of wood needed for the perfect height and strength of the fire and passed it on to a thief waiting in an alley nearby. And it was really huge. They wouldn't be able to pull this off for long. And if anyone distinguished a fire before Ezio came through… she didn't dare think about it. What he was about to do was already beyond normal human understanding.

He would have to - and will - lose height and gain speed in the process. Using the momentum, he will brush past the fire and the heat will push him back up in the air almost instantly. Leonardo thought of adding two small ropes to hold Ezio's arms in place but decided against it in case Ezio needed to jump off again when landing.

Somehow, somewhere during that day, she got excited with this all, too. Not in a serious way like Ezio and Antonio but in a childish manner like Leonardo. Hanging around him all day long really rubbed off onto her. Whenever Leonardo asked for something, she would get it as quickly as possible and then stand and watch him do whatever he was doing. She wondered how many things could happen at once inside his head. He even reminded her to water the plants – which she had already forgotten – and to please, always the please, hang out the laundry, all while bending the wooden bars back into their previous shape after repairing the wings.

The day continued without her taking notice of it. The sun shone her brightest outside and began to sink again, always shining through the window in the atelier and always capturing a busy Miranda with her rays.

Then eventually Antonio came by again and helped them carry the flying machine back to the tower they started off that day. Again they ascended the stairs and again they stood on the roof of this huge tower. Lucky that none of them were scared of heights. Ezio was already there and together they quietly waited for the sun to sink completely, since Antonio told them that his thieves would light the fires exactly then.

They did so with only a few seconds apart each fire. German people would be proud of their punctuality. She heard Leonardo sigh, content.

"It's beautiful," he said. That it was, indeed. On the horizon, the _palazzo_ was visible and scattered on the way, on small bridges where thieves kept watch – Venerio and Franco were amongst them, too, she remembered – were their big lit fires. It was an amazing sight to see. From high up one couldn't see nor hear the crowd and the sinking sun gave the whole scenery a very peaceful and tranquil look.

She listened with one ear into the conversation going on behind her.

"… could use my sword while flying this," Ezio said, sighing.

"Well… you do have your feet free. If you get close enough without taking an arrow in the head – maybe you could kick them off the building?" Leonardo offered.

"Nice," was the only answer Ezio had. Miranda snorted with laughter. Really a queer sense of humor. And Ezio was just as bad as him. He shrugged his shoulders innocently, smirking.

"Good luck. Try to stay dry this time," Miranda said with a smirk of her own. This time was even more dangerous than before but she hoped everything would turn out good in the end. If he stayed alive, if she did not alter _his_ future, she could think about altering the general future later. Because that is exactly what she had helped with the whole day. No matter that Ezio had the same idea, Miranda went along so she was to blame. But over the course of the day a small voice had popped up inside her head and asked: _by whom?_ This was her new present. Her future had yet to come. No one could say she changed something when there is no future to say that in yet.

Ezio looked down at his white clothes and grinned in response.

"It's now or never, _amico mio," _Antonio interrupted. He didn't look as concerned as Miranda or Leonardo. She did not know whether that was a good thing or not.

The assassin nodded and once again took position at the edge of the roof, his hands on the holding grip of the flying machine. Night fell quickly but the fires burned high and bright, impossible for him to miss them. He inhaled deeply – and pushed the machine along with him off.

Miranda resisted the urge to shut her eyes and forced herself to keep looking. There was no hugging, no excitement, no noise at all on the roof this time. Too great was the fear. Although she wondered whether Antonio feared over Ezio or over the mission at stake.

Ezio neared the first fire and purposely dove towards it to get as much heat as possible.

Miranda held her breath.

Ezio closed his eyes to shield them from the bright light.

And then he rose up again!

Miranda exhaled again and almost slumped to the ground from relief. He could do it. She believed now that Ezio could do pretty much everything if he wanted to. It was difficult to follow him with their eyes now in this darkness. Even if none of them showed their joy, everyone felt the same as her. They went down and Antonio bid them good-bye and went in the direction of the _palazzo_, leaving Leonardo and Miranda walking between passers-by who were talking about a flying demon.

"You're a genius, Leonardo. Really," she had to say it. No one had thanked him yet this day.

"Thank you for the compliment. But you would have had the same idea, I guess."

"Only because I'm from another time and know a few more things in that area than you do. Although I got the basic idea, I threw it away after not seeing a way to accomplish it. You are amazing. Period," she insisted.

"Ah, well. I won't argue if you insist on complimenting me. You may continue doing so if I might add," he winked, which made her chuckle quietly.

Inside the atelier for the nth time that day, he offered Miranda a drink and together they moved the sofa in the living room upstairs towards the window, to look outside at the fires. This wine had little alcohol he explained but was tasty nonetheless. A sweet and warm feeling spread through her mouth with every sip she took and continued down into her stomach, making her feel very content and happy with herself and the whole day. Maybe the latter was only because she was sitting and talking to a man she admired and liked. She would think of that later.

They talked or kept quiet, once decided to read something from a book together. Miranda told him about her strange way of reading just as he told her about his little adventure on top of a roof, surrounded by hundreds of pigeons, observing them to eventually make up the flying machine. The way he spoke about the flying machine, always full of pride... he really loved that one creation of his.

They stayed up the whole night. Even though they worked the whole day and she got beat up in the morning by Venerio, which seemed to have happened ages ago now, they weren't tired. When no messenger came to bring them the news of success Miranda became a bit nervous, but Leonardo told her that they sometimes tend to forget doing that because they were somewhere else, drinking and partying again. That lifted her mood again. They moved the sofa back to its original position, cleaned the glasses and put the half-empty bottle away again.

The morning hours passed with them cleaning up the mess they made by repairing the flying machine. Or rather the mess _he _made. She didn't do much but watch him. Well, that could count as letting the mess be made so actually making a mess. Oooh, when she didn't get enough sleep, her thoughts could circle illogically like this. All. Day. Long.

It was somewhere in these waking hours that Miranda decided to get outside and stretch a bit, going to the nearby bakery and stands to buy something to eat, and when she heard the first news of the previous night.

"Haven't you seen?" A woman started, "I tell you, it was the flying demon!" Miranda chuckled quietly, picking to loafs of bread while listening to the conversation.

"No, the demon just threw him off. It was an assassin, clad in white," a middle-aged bald man said.

"How do you know that?"

"The guards are searching for him all over the place, _haven't you heard?_" He mimicked her previous tone. "They saw him _inside _the _palazzo_. His clothes were all bloody from..."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard that, too," another man linked himself into the conversation. "It was the blood of Grimaldi they say. He killed him, right?"

"Not only him. He killed the _doge_, too."

Miranda almost let her basket fall down. No. It couldn't be... She quickly paid the two loafs of bread and hurried back.

"Leonardo! Did you hear…?" She didn't finish the sentence since a chubby man was standing in the room, talking to him. Domenico Malipiero. He was a frequent customer of Leonardo's and quite nice and polite - always open for a good conversation.

"Yes, I did. Horrible news, don't you think so, too?" So Malipiero did tell him that. This man really liked to gossip, too, she forgot to add. She nodded, playing along when noticing Leonardo's look and tone. She forced a small smile out of herself to greet Malipiero, then went upstairs to put the newly bought food away, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

Ezio couldn't have had done that. He said he wouldn't kill the _doge_. He said he would prevent that from happening. Antonio said so, too. She started trembling. Actually, she should be happy that this happened. Now Marco Barbarigo is surely going to be _doge_, just like she 'foretold'. But that was not the point. They had _lied. _Simply _lied _to get her favor, her trust. And she thought that she finally could feel safe, finally get used to this situation. She even agreed helping them, not only stand by and watch but _help _them and _live_ with the consequences, not only for her but for them as well, since one wrong move, one word too much from her side could decided their lives and deaths. But they, they only wanted her knowledge! They only wanted to use her! How could she have thought otherwise! It was all an act...

"Miranda, leave the poor bread in peace. We want to eat it still," Leonardo's voice suddenly appeared from her left, from the stairs. She had been crushing the bread with her hand unknowingly and let go of it.

"What do you want from me?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"I want you to know that I – no, nobody – knows what has happened tonight. Venerio just came by before Domenico did and told me that. No one has lied to you."

"Where's Ezio?"

"I… I don't know. He hasn't come back yet." He shrugged helplessly and she felt guilty for doubting him. Or did he act, too? No… god, everyone but him! She _needed_ to trust at least _one damn person!_ And who else but Leonardo could that be? He really seemed as clueless as her and always so honest... that is why she did decide to believe him and act in a way he would approve. Ezio better get back fast and explain himself.

When she regarded Leonardo, her look softened. He already knew what was going on inside her and that only after living together for such a short time. How could she not trust this man? Miranda apologized for her behavior and hugged him once, then retreated into her room. She wanted some time alone. Everything would be resolved once Ezio returned.

One day passed. Then another. Then a whole week.

But Ezio did not return.

* * *

Phew, somehow this chapter wrote itself when I didn't look. I'm quite happy with the result. As you surely have noticed, there's lots of ingame talk this time, if a little changed in some places to my liking, but I found the original dialogue of these scenes was very good to work with.

Ignore a little logic thing in the middle of the chapter when Leonardo throws the paper into the fire - actually the chimney is in the atelier and not in the living room but I 1. somehow didn't register that on my 1. (and 2.) playthrough and 2. ... who would light a chimney in a room full of paper? Well, that's my thought anyhow. Now I can start arguing with myself, counter my own statement with candles and torches... but I will not. It's better that way. Ehem. What I mean is... my chimney is upstairs. Period. The fire just temporarily had to be there. Artistic freedom!

Tell me what you like, tell me what you don't like. And if anyone of you knows when the Italian (or precisely the Venetian) new year in the 15th century is, tell me so. I've searched for it a lot but didn't find a correct (and professionally confirmed) date - only when it had been changed to the 1st of January, which has happened about 40 years later than when the story takes place. If none of you know, I will start the new year (1486 in this case) on March 1st, just to tell you beforehand. Let's see how much will happen until then!


	7. Chapter 7

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

Awake but too lazy to stand up yet, Miranda rolled around in her bed, slowly shaking the numb feeling out of her limbs up that way. It was early in the morning when the woman awoke and she couldn't sleep anymore. With sluggish moves she eventually pushed the blanket aside and raised her upper body. It looked like she was being pulled up by an invisible string of an as invisible puppeteer. Miranda stayed that way for a minute or two, swaying a little bit back and forth, to get out of her dreamy state. The dream itself, she couldn't remember. Eventually she placed her feet down on the floor and got out of the bed, ready to start another new day.

She went to the bathroom in her pajamas, which consisted of a dark blue nightgown made of fine wool that didn't scratch her skin at all like she had expected. It reached down to her shin, covering more than enough skin, as to not be too embarrassed about showing too much skin in the morning and if meeting a certain someone by accident. Moreover, she was too lazy to get her clothes out of her dresser. One side of her was all about being active and about Parkour and the other was all 'lazy cat'-like. Anyway, she bought the nightgown a few days ago, since sleeping only in her underwear seemed very wrong. _What person does not turn around in their sleep and ends up without half the blanket?_, she thought. And if someone were to come in and see her in that state… well, _that_ was embarrassing.

Since it was so early in the morning she might meet Leonardo on the way – or she might not. He didn't have to wake up early always. Either way, to stop this rambling once and for all: she did not bother to cover herself more. She did not care. Period.

Miranda went into the bathroom, her bare feet barely making a noise on the wooden floor, and took a nice bath in the bathtub. She was very happy that a bathtub did exist and that the Renaissance was a hygienic historical period. There was also a wooden bucket next to the bathtub, which she used as a replacement for showering. It was quicker than bathing, so it had to be the earlier version of a shower, she concluded.

After drying herself off and finishing her morning ritual of cleaning her face and teeth, she dried her face off, too, and put the less wet towel around her shoulders, letting her copper hair fall down open and unbound. She never put her hair inside the towel and formed it like a turban like many of her friends. There was an easy enough reason as to why not: when she was twelve, her turban or little towel tower, as she had called it then, always crumbled together, so she let it be. And it stuck until now with her 24 years. She had gotten better at making that turban but it felt weird to have so much weight on her head and to not be able to move around freely. Miranda changed back into her nightgown and just as she opened the door to exit the room, another door just to the left of her opened in the same moment and a half-naked, somewhat tired Leonardo came out - and froze on the spot when seeing her.

Miranda blinked one, two times and he quickly turned his gaze downward to his feet. She didn't feel awkward at all. She had said so before: enough skin was being covered. With the towel around her shoulders even more. The woman guessed, though, that Leonardo was as embarrassed as she was in this moment - meaning next to zero -, considering that he was an artist and drew naked people, too. Or examined naked dead bodies. He was standing there, looking at the floor, because one just did not look at women that were dressed so freely. It was inappropriate and disrespectful. Prostitutes were an exception. But he did not consider her as one, thus he looked away out of respect.

Miranda, on the other hand, took this chance to muster his body. What woman would let this chance pass by? His pajamas consisted of long, loose pants, not unlike the usual pajama pants she had seen in her time. She guessed that they were self-made, since she now knew about the leggings Ezio had given her before - or the nightgowns even men wore. She was happy that neither were the case with Leonardo. Now onto the more interesting part. Being an artist, he didn't have a too trained body but that did not mean that he was all chubby. He _did_ have some muscles! She guessed that living so close to the (trained) thieves and (the even more trained) Ezio had to have some impact on him after all.

The whole procedure took merely a few seconds. Miranda then lowered her head to his, to see his eyes, and gave him a grinning "Good morning!". After that, she went into her room to change into something more appropriate for the day.

After changing, Miranda sat down at the table, waiting for Leonardo to finish his bathroom time and to start cooking because it was his turn to do so. When he showed up, there was nothing of the awkwardness, if one could call it like that, before between them. Everything was back to normal. She watched him get out a few bananas and wondered what he would make today. Italian cuisine had surprised her every time in the month she had spent here.

Today was the 29th September. Yes, exactly one month since her arrival had passed.

It was surprising for her, too. Somehow she had gotten used to living here. Watching Leonardo cook like this or do that herself was something _normal_, something that turned into a routine and wasn't strange anymore. Yes, she was getting breakfast from a famous and genius - and usually dead - man. So what? There's nothing to it, nothing at all! Miranda chuckled quietly. Well, there is not much to it after getting to know the man. A month is a long time and it is easy to get to know a person very good in that period. Suddenly, she sighed.

It had been nine days since Ezio disappeared without a word.

Leonardo did not know anything about Ezio's whereabouts and she could see that it bothered and worried him. Ezio was a wanted man in Venice by now and still sought after by the guards. The town doubled the amount of said guards patrolling the streets and they even increased the safety outside the gates and the farmlands. The thieves guessed the most logic option: that he was hiding at the moment. Most of them didn't believe that he might have killed the _doge_. It went against everything they had planned. But nobody knew exactly what had happened inside the _palazzo_ and what went wrong. No, they knew what could have went wrong but they never expected it to escalate like this. Miranda had been angry and confused for a day or two; about what and whom to believe. After a long talk with Leonardo and Antonio, she eventually gave in to their logic arguments. There was no use killing the _doge_ and thus having an even harder time hiding, since the guards were especially instructed to search for the thieves' guild now, too.

Speaking of the thieves: The only one visiting frequently was Venerio. Franco had been here here once and that only for about five minutes - in which Miranda and him still managed to tease each other. Franco was busy hiding and finishing whatever requests the thieves' guild got more secretly than ever, while Venerio was and is her teacher still and supposed to teach her something. Supposed. They hadn't continued their "training" yet. He did not pressure her into doing so but she didn't want to continue unless they had finished a little request of her. That request was made in her still confused state but she couldn't just take it back. Actually, it was something she would have requested even now. But then it had sounded like something along these lines: 'If you don't do what I want, I know that you only use me. Want my trust or not?' That alone had mildly annoyed Venerio. Also, a few more slips of her tongue weren't particularly helpful in creating a friendly relationship with the man. Definitely had to shut up more often.

Back to reality. Leonardo was in the middle of his explanation as to why he needed to close the shop yet again, when someone knocked on the door downstairs. She already knew who it was and sighed, then went downstairs to open the door. How surprising – it was Venerio! Again.

"_Buon giorno_, Miranda," he greeted her politely, nodding his head. She returned the gesture.

"You're kinda early, aren't you?"

"Couldn't sleep well today." Good enough excuse as another. She turned around to go back upstairs, back to her food, when he held her back by gripping her shoulder.

"We found the machine. Or what's left of her." Her eyes widened in surprise. When she heard that the machine had fallen into the water, she snapped at the thieves, or Venerio to be precise, since he was the nearest one. That was what she was talking about earlier. Her little request. Problem was: she only found out that the flying machine had sunk, struck by fire, about a day later and with the chaos still roaming the streets it had been impossible to reach it.

"Don't look so happy. She got crushed in half and the part we were able to recover was down on the ground; a rope had kept her there." Her heart sank back. That sounded unrepairable. Leonardo would really need to start anew… She wanted to avoid it, since he had been so proud with what he engineered and he was too busy with drawing way too many requests at the moment. One sculpture, too, even. He had the shop closed almost a full week now because of it.

"Well… thanks, anyway. And sorry for yelling at you like that again," Poor Venerio seemed to be the easiest to be hurt by her, intentionally or not. Once again: shut your damn mouth, Miranda.

"We're taking her back while we are talking. Will you continue your training now?"

"Err, just give me this one day off." She did promise him but she wanted to run around freely once more before getting beaten to something unrecognizable again. He gave her a cold look. "Hey! I said I wanted to _see_ her with my own eyes. And if she is not here yet..." That was so utterly mean and unfair to him. Yep... _again_.

The three of them ate breakfast together and she asked Leonardo whether she _could_ actually go outside or whether he needed help. To her luck, he muttered to her to go outside as long as she could, his eyes already looking somewhere else, at some kind of picture that was only in his mind as of yet. He definitely wanted to be left alone is what she interpreted. Miranda couldn't do much beside mixing the colors, which she had already done and put away in bottles that would hold for another few days. It was hell, finding the right tone, the right amount of green or blue or red and doing it over and over again until she had those bottles filled. Venerio raised an eyebrow at this short conversation, clearly thinking that he could just drag her outside and do whatever he wanted with her and surely not pleased that she had lied to him a minute ago. If Leonardo had kept her inside... wait a moment, that may have been better. Ah, crap. Miranda briefly wondered whether Venerio was the very revengeful type.

She changed into suitable clothes, meaning the black leggings Ezio had given her and the red tunic. A pair of jeans was not flexible enough, so this would have to do. She was sure to get some stares, seeing that Leonardo already regarded her outfit strangely, trying not to look too closely, but she would shrug it off. Hopefully. It was early in the morning anyway, she was on roofs and not in the crowd and her tunic was long enough. It was like walking around in a dress. Mind the black chucks, since she still had no other pair of shoes to wear. At this rate, they won't last long… She also stuffed a map of the city into her bag and shouldered it.

Yes, she was going to visit the roofs yet again. Curse her body for suddenly wanting to walk around and empty her energy reservoir as quickly as possible. Maybe her body thought that it could escape training by oversleeping the next day.

"Do you have a hat I can use?" she asked the men, the sentence directed more at Leonardo. Her hair was still wet and she didn't want to get a cold. The woman was still scared that, no matter how much _not grave_ the illness was, she could easily die. A minute later she had a woolen cap on her head and with a wave of her hand, she disappeared out of the door.

* * *

It was indeed a lot cooler now but nothing she wasn't used to. London could - and would - be much worse in this time of the year.

Miranda looked around and just like she expected: there were barely people out yet. At least in this quarter. The merchants were still preparing to open their stores and the customers had to walk a good amount of time to reach the different stores. Usually Miranda would have gone to the right of the atelier, meaning to the south, and scaled the wall next to the church. In the small alleyway the windows and doors were built very low and close together. Whoever lived there - she didn't envy them for the lack of sun.

Today, though, with so few people out, she used the ladder that was pretty much in front of Leonardo's atelier. Cautiously she climbed it up, worried that the ladder might topple over. It didn't matter that it was tied up with ropes at the broad wooden plank, she would never feel secure without someone holding the lower part of the ladder. Up on said plank, there were two options to choose from: jump onto another few wooden planks stacked above the other that were swaying around, held by a wooden construct standing on Leonardo's atelier or using the facade of the white building with the tunnel beneath it...

Her feet were already standing on the facade. Cowards.

Her small feet fit perfectly into the small advance and her hands had a good hold on the two windows that graced the facade. Hopefully no one was inside to see her. That would ruin her not yet established reputation. So much for not caring about stares. Once this part was finished, her body was already a bit warmer than before and she regretted that she did not take a bottle full of water with her. She wasn't so much out of training, was she?

She was now on top of the atelier and randomly decided to move backwards away from it - to the east. According to her map, the river flowed there and in her simple way of thinking she decided that she would not get lost as easily if she stayed by the water. Or at least it would be easier to find her way back with the help of the map. With a pull over a wall and onto a higher building, she allowed her surrounding to engulf her.

She hoped that she would never get tired of such a view: three floored buildings, cream-colored and red and - a bit further down, reachable through a pair of stairs -, another row of buildings with a white one in between, which a tailor inhabited. Round and quadratic windows all seemed to be organized in a random manner, as if a child had played and kneaded the city years ago. The red tiles, that slowly lost their color due to the sun, still tried to shine and reflect the latter with the same enthusiasm they had when brightly colored. Looking at the horizon, one could see a sea of chimneys, some of them already working at this early hour. And looking down at the cobbled street, she could see trees scattered here and there, bigger and smaller ones, giving the scenery more of a nature touch and less of a city feeling. It didn't matter that their lush green had slowly begun to fade away, just like the tiles' red. Soon they would be coloring the streets in different tones, anyway.

Miranda was easily mesmerized by cities. Not all of them but she had a few she had picked out throughout her life, the few she always had wanted to visit. Venice was definitely one of them. And here she was! Living in the time of Venice's zenith, the city's most influential and the least worrisome time. To see the city brimming with life, the people do their business. Miranda could enjoy or appreciate such moments only now that she had her freedom and had accepted the path of no return. But when she saw the city in this kind of light, no chance of returning home seemed less sad and bad than before.

That sounded really strange now. Better start moving again.

Smiling, Miranda went on, one might say 'went for a walk' on top of the roofs. First to the right and over a wooden balcony. Then, with the _palazzo della Seta_ to her left, above a long and pretty dangerous looking plank. She plopped down on her butt after that. She was brave but that really took a lot of courage. How many meters till the ground? Looked as many as twelve.

This way she continued her little journey, staying safe by avoiding jumping - we all know how that ended - and the occasional plank. One time, she crawled on top of such a plank on all fours because it had wobbled too dangerously for her tastes. She eventually reached the water and regretted it even more that she didn't take something along. Also, if she continued walking on roofs, she would start to give directions that way, too. "Hey, how do I get there?" - "Use the second roof next to the green building and follow the row in northern direction. It's just above a plank, you can't miss it." Sad, Miranda, just sad.

With the water on her left side, she went on, the sun rising higher above her. A few gondolas were on the water and she even saw a huge ship anchored. Not one for travelling merchants with so many guards on top of it, that she was sure of. The streets were beginning to crowd and the everyday sounds of Venice filled her ears. Merchants and customers, children and mothers, visitors and guards. All the various kind of people moving, keeping the city alive. It was not all that different than the 21st century. Minus the modern technology and such, obviously. Venice was rich in goods and one could get everything one wanted - if only in smaller quantities and much more expensive. She saw a man bid his wife and child goodbye and going to work. And a crier shouting the same news every crier was shouting now: assassin murdered the _doge._ No sight of the murderer yet. If sighted, to be reported immediately to the guards because he is highly dangerous. She sighed and distanced herself from the crier, who was repeating the words over and over again.

Marco Barbarigo was furious about tracking Ezio down. And it had only been a week! The thieves had been pulled along with him, just as wanted as the murderer himself. They could barely stay in one place without getting a huge paranoia kick. Venerio was very calm about it all, although it had been difficult to get a few thieves to salvage the ruins of the flying machine because of this whole trouble. Usually it was an easy task and done within a couple of hours but it took _days_ to finish it.

All of a sudden, she did not know how that was possible and no matter how much she thought about it later that day and the following week, it still seemed impossible, but she really and honestly saw a feather stuck between two poles of a balcony. The human eye never ceases to amaze her. The balcony was about twenty or thirty meters away. Let's just say 'very far away'.

And of course she wanted to get that feather. Call it curiosity, a calling, stupidity. When she realized that there was no direct connection between the two buildings, she climbed the yellow one she was standing on down as fast as she could. Now she did get a few stares. Hopefully one couldn't see through the leggings. As calm and collected as possible, she went over the bridge, smiling politely and reassuringly to the passersby, who were shaking their heads. Was that a 'oh, what a sad person, poor her' or 'no, not another one' look on their faces? She couldn't define it.

The next obstacle was climbing the building the feather was on. After checking the surroundings, Miranda had to succumb to the circumstances: she had to climb in public and would be looked at again. By now she ought to get used to it...

With the help of a wooden warehouse - or cage with pelts inside, everybody define it the way you want - she climbed in reach of a window, where a child was looking at her with big eyes. Miranda closed hers and prayed for it to be over, fast. Above the window, she found a brick hanging out a bit further than supposed to and the muscles of her arm tensed immensely to pull her body along and keep it in mid-air for a second before she found a foothold on the upper part of the window. After that, she switched the positions of her arms, her right hand gripping the brick, while her left hand stretched out to reach the balcony, fingers stretching to get a hold. Curse you, height. Eventually she defeated this obstacle, too, and was hanging down the balcony. People were standing and pointing their fingers at her by now. She got her legs up the balcony with the help of the wall and pretty much _walked_ it up until her body was finally over the railing. Where's the applause? Poor audience.

Now, panting and sweating heavily and being closer, she saw that it was quite the beautiful feather: brown with darker stripes neatly placed all over it, barely disheveled by the wind tugging at it, rather moving gracefully along. She wondered what kind of bird had such feathers. She could barely name a few bird names and even less assign their corresponding feathers. So much trouble for this little thing... maybe she could give it to Leonardo as a present.

"What are you doing up here?" Miranda froze on the spot and slowly raised her head – only to look at an arched bow with an arrow pointing at her, ready to be shot, from the roof. The archer and her were standing barely five feet apart.

"I-I just wanted to get this…" Miranda said weakly, holding the feather up. The guard didn't move an inch, only regarded her through clenched eyes, a strand of greasy hair slipping from behind his ear to in front of his eyes. _Please, don't hurt me, _she prayed.

"I'm going to go down now, okay?" She hesitantly placed the feather in her bag and took a step backwards and when he still did not move, another, but did not turn around as she was scared of turning her back to him. Her hand was always at the railing, tracing it to the other edge. This was going painfully slow in her opinion.

The only warning she got was a wicked smile that crept up his face, then he let the arrow loose. Her eyes widened and everything really slowed down for a moment, slowed down to let her look at the arrow coming at her, to see the pointed edge, see a small crack on the left side of it, as her eyes focused further. Time returned and instinct kicked in, guiding her movements. She ducked and pressed herself against the wall, dodging the arrow miraculously. Through the newly appeared buzzing in her ears, she could hear a sword being unsheathed and her body reacted immediately with jumping over the edge of the balcony.

The surprise when she realized where she had jumped off, and her arms desperately trying to hold onto something, was the last thing she felt.

* * *

Light.

That was what her brain named the brightness shining down upon her. It was wavering and bubbling, or was it her that was doing it? Her brain once again helped and told her that light was not supposed to do something like that so it really had to be her, right? Why was thinking so difficult? Keeping her eyes open was just as difficult because there was a heavy weight on them. And she felt as if she was getting further and further away from the light, somehow falling deeper... she breathed in - and her eyes widened in shock.

Water!

Miranda coughed and began to panic. Her body turned upside down and when she began swimming with closed eyes, she increased the distance to the surface even more. Eventually realizing this with her clouded mind, she turned around and began pushing herself upwards. Her lungs protested as much as her body. It wanted to rest after the effort made before that morning but Miranda ignored it. That is until her muscles clenched together painfully in her right leg.

_No, no, no, no!_

Of all the times she got a convulsion now? No, no, no! _Move, body, move! _She forced her body to move but there was less strength behind her strokes, because her leg couldn't keep up the way she wanted. Her heart beat faster than ever.

_I don't want to die!_

She felt her eyes tear up and at the same time, her mind clearing enough to manifest her every last ounce of strength._ Which was not enough,_ she realized shocked. How deep had she sunk? How could she have not noticed falling into the water?

Suddenly a hand reached towards her, followed by a body and before she knew it, she was above the water. Her lungs instantly greedily sucked as much air in as they could, her leg throbbed stiffly. Her rescuer led her through the water, half carrying her, which way she wasn't sure, because she was busy spitting water out of her mouth. Eventually the person pulled her onto safe ground and she began coughing her life out. The person muttered something and she registered that it was a man. He continued pulling her away. She did not care nor protest, as long as he led her far away from the water.

"Are you alright?" he suddenly asked her, hands on her shoulders, her body pressed against a wall. They had stopped. When? Not that it mattered. She coughed another time and nodded weakly.

"Miranda, are you alright? Answer me," he repeated the question, feeling helpless. Miranda looked up through her teary eyes, meeting a pair of white ones, and never before in her life had she been so relieved to see a person.

Her body moved on its own, embracing Venerio's, needing something to hold on to, some kind of comfort. Finally she croaked a "I'm alright" out and he sighed, at ease now and placed his arms around the small of her back. They stayed this way for a minute or two, Miranda clutching to him and not wanting to let go.

"We need to get back," he said. Miranda shook her head. "Just a moment, please… I need… to sort things." She had just escaped death twice. The shock, realization and often pain that came after the adrenalin faded away, came very quick this time around. An arrow aimed at her – and she dodged. Falling down a high building into water and almost drowning. She had lost her consciousness for a moment because her head scraped along the balcony when jumping and did not get away as quickly as her body, hitting the railing once. She wasn't sure whether that was the correct cause but it was as good as another. Miranda started trembling and shut her eyes in an attempt to block the images, the feelings of everything that had happened in these seconds, minutes. _Breathe in, breathe out, try to calm down_.

"Just a bit further away from here, I'm worried the guard might come after you." The guard, grinning wickedly. The arrow, flying towards her. Her body, falling towards the ground. The water, trapping her. Her mind replayed the images like single movie scenes. Over and over again until eventually adding things that didn't happen. The guard, laughing when her body hits the floor with a crunch, or counting the seconds she was under water, waiting for her limp body to surface…

"Why are you here?" she asked with a shaky voice.

"I have to guard you. Don't want you to die so fast," he answered, guiding her away by her shoulders. She tensed up. _Merda_ (shit), wrong words! He kept talking to keep her distracted, all the while glancing around, checking whether a guard was nearing. He could not see clearly but he could hear or rather _feel_ the heavy, armored footsteps coming their way, shouting something about a possible assassin. _The_ possible assassin.

The footsteps were closing in and Venerio quickened his pace. He cursed under his breath that he could not allocate this part of the city in his mind now and the sun not shining down in these alleys was not helpful, too. Of all the times and places the shadow had to be here...

"Miranda, don't slow down," he whispered.

Said woman had finally collected her thoughts enough to analyze the situation they were in. Her hand was still trembling when she pulled him to the entrances of the houses. She knocked frantically on the doors until one finally opened and they stumbled inside. A woman in her thirties, no _a nun_, stared down at them with raised eyebrows but otherwise an indifferent look on her face. Miranda put a finger in front of her mouth and looked at the woman with pleading eyes. She seemed to understand and leisurely, as if she was used to such a scene, waved at them to follow her and began walking upstairs.

"_Con un berretto? _(With a hat?) _Sì_, just ran into this building." Miranda and Venerio froze in mid-step and looked at each other, shocked. The woman, too, immediately recognized the danger and, with a speed she never would have given the nun, she was back at the door, pushing them roughly behind a sofa they hadn't noticed stood there, at the left side of the entrance. She whistled and two very sparsely clothed women appeared and literally jumped down on the sofa, deliberately pushing it further towards the wall, squishing Miranda and Venerio behind it into very uncomfortable positions. Their legs were intertwined and they both held their hands at their mouths to keep themselves quiet and potential dust particles away. One moment later the door began to tremble under the heavy knocking of a guard.

The nun opened the door as casually as she had when Miranda and Venerio had arrived. The latter two held their breath.

"Move aside. We are searching for an assassin." The guard rudely pushed the nun aside, looking around and even sniffing like a dog, trying to catch their scent.

"An assassin? Here? Please, sit down and explain that to my easily frightened girls. Or do you want me to show you the rooms upstairs? I have nothing to hide." The girls played along with her words, hugging each other in mock-fear. The nun sounded very confident and sure of her words. A tiny bit of envy mixed itself into the anxiousness that Miranda felt. That woman knew how to lie!

"Don't try to change the topic. Someone saw them running inside this building." The man spoke in a gruff manner. What she would give to see the scene... the only thing she could look at were Venerio's eyes, though. The milky, white eyes that bored themselves into her eyes, too.

"Well, everybody is scared of the assassin. _Of course_, they would think they saw him on the streets or enter a building when this is not the case." Featherlight footsteps moved around the floor. "You do wish to continue coming to this place, don't you, Bernardo? You know, this is the only place that offers the service you want..." The way she spoke... she was _purring_! Was that really a nun? On Venerio's face was the same kind of aghast look.

"Are you threatening me?" He demanded. But he did not sound as confidently as before.

"No, I'm just reminding you. After all, that is why you entered the building alone, no?" Miranda could hear the amusement behind the voice clearly. There was a long silence after that. Most likely a glaring contest of sorts.

"Curse you, woman." With these words heavy footsteps stormed out of the building, banging the door behind them. Another long silence followed.

"Now, girls, let us greet our guests properly."

* * *

Well, hello. Kind of a long break I had. I think it was six weeks? Sorry! School was busy trying to kill me and I had next to no freetime. Plus, I had a minor writer's block. Eventually, I forced myself to type this chapter and I need to say... I should do that more often. It works. I'm just typing and typing and finally have the chapter out now. Even if I'm not as satisfied with it as with the others but oh, well. What I do like is to watch my chapter unfold. I had the chapter roughly typed out and when I sat down to write the actual version, the chapter transformed half-way, squeezing another kind of ending in that I didn't plan. I like this ending more, though.

So, once again, I'm sorry for not updating sooner and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

Women's laughter filled his ears and the rustling of several layers of different dresses. He leaned his head back and shifted to a more comfortable position on the sofa, wondering how he had exactly ended up here. Of course, there could only be one answer:

Miranda.

This woman was the cause of his misery. Had Antonio not ordered him to watch out and _train _her, he would not be here but home and resting, bored to death because his leg was not fully healed and he was actually restricted from doing anything that could be considered as moving. Not that he did care. He was one to bend and break the rules.

Miranda was good against the boredom, sometimes at least. Alas, her personality did not fit his image of women and he was always caught the wrong side when she uttered a request, an unpredicted condition, and refused to train with him. He had said that he wouldn't force her into doing so but the orders from Antonio were different. She _had _to be trained. What use it would be was beyond him but they were still orders. He had never felt so helpless in completing these orders, though. The worst part were the slipped comments from her that he usually wouldn't have minded but now interpreted so much into. Venerio did not know why he did so with her and couldn't find an answer no matter how hard he thought about it. Maybe it was just because she was... different than most. Even different than Rose, who was a very unique woman.

A hand crept up his leg and pulled him back to reality. They could sit down around him all they want but there had to be a limit somewhere. He gently lifted the hand off his leg and heard a displeasing sound escape the owner. These women he understood. Courtesans, prostitutes, women that offered their bodies in exchange for money. He knew that not few of them saw this as a better place, a better work, than what they had to do and endure before but they didn't need to exert their work at every man that came through the doors. Thus, he tried not to be too forceful even though he couldn't get very far with it, as the hand quickly reappeared on his leg.

His ears perked up. Did he hear someone coming right now? He wasn't sure and the laughter and ramblings distracted him, even if he did not listen. Where was Miranda when one needed her? She had nothing better to do than run around the city suspiciously when the guards were searching for an assassin, eventually resulting in this kind of frustrating situation for him. The image, or rather the feeling, of her arms around him, shaking in fear, appeared in his mind. His heart tightened up and he felt a pang of guilt. He knew the fear of death very good.

He inspected the faceless contours of the women around him, when he heard something again and his head shot up towards the stairs. Someone was coming down slowly and carefully. No shoes on, making the steps barely audible. It was a woman, as he could see the outlines of a dress. He hoped it was Miranda - and he hoped she was fine...

* * *

Barefooted and one hand trailing the railing of the staircase, Miranda slowly descended into the room, carefully watching out not to slip and ruin her dress. Venerio had already changed and sat on the peach-colored sofa, surrounded by five women, some closer to him than normally allowed. He was trying to push them off him gently but they ignored his attempts.

He must have heard her because his head turned towards her. Judging from his expression, though, he did not know that it was she. The girls around him followed his eyes and made squealing noises when spotting her. Two of them, a blonde and a brunette, let go of Venerio and hurried to her, gathering too long parts of their red dresses up to move freely, revealing black stockings in the process.

"You look so beautiful! And that hair! Oh, I would love to have such hair…," said the brunette and picked up a loose strand of Miranda's red hair that was held by a clasp. Miranda breathed a small "thank you" and smiled. The brunette returned the smile and she and her blonde friend began pulling her towards the sofa, too.

Then the blonde began to speak up. "You really are a great match! Ah, what I would give to find such a handsome man." The other girls agreed and for a minute, they forgot about their guests and engaged in a conversation of who would come into question out of the men they knew. Miranda used the chance to move closer to Venerio, who tensed up slightly before looking into her face and releasing the tension with a breath.

"It's you," he whispered into her ear, sounding very relieved. There was more to the relief than recognising her but that could only be her imagination.

"Yup. You endured quite a lot these past minutes, it seems," she whispered back.

"This is nothing compared to the horror of dressing." She snickered in response and earned an angry look from him.

Right after the guard had left and Venerio and Miranda were released from their hiding spot, Sister Teodora, as the nun is called, told them to get dressed into something else. They would get ill if they continued walking around in wet clothes and they might be recognized. She also offered them to wait and rest here while their clothes dried. Well, offered is a nice way to put it, since they didn't even get a chance to argue about it. Within a few minutes they were separated and dragged into different rooms by different girls; in Miranda's case it was Teodora herself.

She led her to a room at the uppermost floor. The carpet was red as the silken blankets of the curtained big bed. A chest stood right next to it and a few dresses were scattered on the bed, the door of the dresser still open. Someone had to dress up in haste this morning. Teodora ordered her to undress. Miranda obviously didn't do that as she was used to change alone in her room and not in front of an unknown woman. Her hesitation resulted in the nun coming over and pulling the tunic above her head as if Miranda was a little, badly behaving child. After protesting weakly, Teodora eventually let go of her and returned to searching for a suitable dress from a walkable dresser room (not the dresser from before), six meter in breadth, leaving Miranda to peel herself out of her clothes on her own. Luckily, she had washed her bra before and wore it today.

Teodora then returned and helped Miranda change into a white under-dress before helping her with the actual pale blue dress. It had ruffled ends at the sleeves and revealed her décolleté in a square, also loose silk ends hanging around from her hip. Teodora took one of the ends into her hand and loosely put it around her waist, where she pinned it to the dress. She repeated this with the others, too, making the dress seem a little fluffy around her hips - and revealing a lot of leg in front. She would serve them some tea, Teodora said after brushing her still wet hair and putting it up with a clasp and sent Miranda down with these words.

"Are you alright?" he suddenly asked her and his eyes darted across her face as if searching for the answer there.

"I'm… alright, I think." Not that she was clearly over the happenings, would never be, but the memory was more clouded than ever, more unreal and far away. Not completely gone, though.

"Ladies, what are you doing talking with only yourselves?" Sister Teodora stepped into the room, carrying a plate with a pot and two cups on it. "I made some tea to warm you up," she smiled warmly and put the plate down. A few strands of her dark brown hair fell out of her cowl as she did so. She poured the steaming content into the cups and pushed them in front of the two not-so-wet-anymore poodles.

"Thank you," Miranda said friendly and reached for her cup. All in all this morning could have ended much worse.

"If I may know: what did you do to deserve the attention of the guards?" she asked and looked her straight in the eyes. She seemed very curious and normally Miranda appreciated it when people didn't avoid eye contact but she was sure that her eyes showed the fear that was still present inside her and it made her a little uncomfortable.

"She insulted a guard," Venerio answered before she could even open her mouth. He leaned forward and reached for his own cup.

"And why are you wet then?"

"We escaped through the water," Miranda continued. He wanted to lie. She was all in.

She sighed dramatically. "These guards always force people to use extreme methods. I myself had to jump into a cart full of roses once to escape them. That is why I don't like them. But they are the best customers." Customers? So this was what she had presumed.

"What exactly were you talking about with Bernardo?"

"He often requests… unusual toys and behavior. Not many accept these requests." SM-Games or what? Better not get into the details.

After a little everyday chitchat, Teodora stood up and excused herself. "I have other matters to attend to. You may keep the clothes and bring them back to me another time, _Signore e Signorina…?_"

"Venerio Tiepolo," he stood up and kissed her hand, then pointed towards her. "This is Miranda Evans. Thank you again for all you have done."

"Always, Miranda and Venerio. Take your time and drink up your tea. If someone knocks, you know where to hide." She gave them a mischievous grin and one last curious look before turning around and leaving into another room.

The other girls, who had been quiet while Teodora talked to them, did not waste a second to surround those two again, one on the lean of Venerio's side of the sofa, making him inch closer to Miranda when sitting down, looking at her with pleading eyes.

It was two hours later that they were released from this place. The people were nice but there had to be a limit of looks one could get and applause for ridiculous stories one told. Venerio's appearance made him very popular and the girls didn't want to let him go so easily. Even Miranda got a look or two, which made her a little uncomfortable. They _did _seem like they were about to swoop down on them like animals on their prey. Eventually the two of them vigorously apologized that they had to leave so early and got their wet clothes into another bag – one more thing they would have to bring back. It was something around two o'clock by now.

Outside, they were quietly walking back home, both of them trying to sort different kinds of displeasing thoughts out of their heads. At least Miranda was definitely past the shock state and only shivering occasionally when thinking back to the incident. Shivering only because the guard had _grinned_. Everything was upside down in this world, even her: she was more worried about the grin than the fact that she could have died. She expected the middle-ages to be a dangerous place but she never thought the people would be so… willingly dangerous and ready to kill.

And looking but not stepping in.

People _watched. _They only watched indifferently since they did not know anything else. It was _normal._ Someone climbing a building? Don't care about it, even if that someone would get into trouble when doing that kind of thing. Someone being attacked? Got nothing to do with me – I'll just turn around, pity the poor victim and be happy that it isn't me that is being attacked.

"Why won't people help each other?" she spoke the question aloud.

"They're scared," Venerio answered simply.

"I would be, too. But couldn't they try?"

"Would you jump after someone falling down a building? Or take the arrow intended for somebody you don't even know?"

"True… I wouldn't. But I would _care!_ They're just turning around, they don't want to see what's in front of their eyes! As if that makes their lives any better and safer…" It was frustrating but also releasing to say those things.

Venerio hesitated for a moment and slowed his steps down to be able to walk next to her. "They will live in fear their whole life and they know that. You will rarely find a family that hasn't lost somebody close to them in a cruel way. The few that tried to rebel are dead without changing anything. People can't change where they stand and if they're powerless… they will stay so their whole life. 'Why try?' they think."

"That's bullshit." Even though Venerio did not fully understand what she meant, the sound of her voice clearly gave it away. "What is Ezio then? I don't know where he came from but I don't think he was always like this. And what about the thieves? If that isn't some great rebel organization then what? And _you_ are the best example! You can't _see _anything, for God's sake! Still, you're caring for your brother, jumping after me – you are not _powerless!_" She stomped down with her foot (she wore her chucks again) and looked very pissed off. What is it with these discouraging sentences?

He was astonished and did not reply. This ticked her even more off. "I know what you meant with the damn family and death and such but what I tried to get through your head was –"

"I know. I know," he stopped her. Involuntarily, a grin spread across his face.

"What's so funny? This is serious!"

"Franco was right. Fiammetta suits you." He chuckled.

"You've got to be kidding me! Fiammetta again? What does it mean?" This guy was unbelievable. Both of them. Ezio and Antonio and Leonardo, too, if they thought the same way. Stupid Italians.

"Little flame. For your temper that sometimes shines through." Before she could answer, he let her anger evaporate with two little words and one expression full of sincere happiness: "Thank you." He ruffled her hair and continued walking, leaving her to stare at his back, dumbstruck for seconds, before running after him.

When she caught up, he started talking again. "Are you really alright now?"

Thinking about it… yes, she felt much better. Maybe she should try asking the local population, Venerio for example, more often when something bothers her with this life and age. "Yeah, I feel much better. Also, I respect you guys more. A little."

"_Sono contento __di sentire__ che. _(Glad to hear that.)"

Silence after that. Not unpleasant, though. Miranda was pretty sure that she finally got on even terms with Venerio. They had a long way to go but it was a start.

"Do you know where you are going at all?" Venerio interrupted her thoughts.

"Uh…" she looked around, then shrugged her shoulders. "No. I just follow my feet."

He smiled a crooked smile and shook his head. All of a sudden he was more talkative and friendly – this was his true nature? Who would have thought! He got close to her ears and started whispering. "Look for a small yellow flower somewhere on the first floor of the buildings or small chalk marking at the lowest bricks."

What the hell was he talking about?

She looked dubiously back at him and when he – obviously – did not react, she put her thoughts into words.

"How the hell do you know that there is something like that around here, anyway?"

"I'm not completely blind, if that is what you're implying. It is… dark, but not completely black and I can see schemes. I can see the shape of your face. When it is bright enough, even more details, like the cavity of your eyes." As the sky was clouded now, the latter was not the case. "About how I know that is here: that is the way thieves work." Puzzled, she took a closer look at the first floors around her.

It wasn't a very broad street, enough for one car, and straight. In the worst case, she would have to walk the street up and down searching for the flower. Maybe in… no, not in a flowerpot. He would have said that, wouldn't he? She narrowed her eyes. She could see a feather from approximately felt thirty meter so a flower shouldn't be all that difficult… there? She stepped further towards a shop. On the canopy above it was something yellowish and small… a flower!

"Found the flower. Mind you, that's more brown than yellow now." She wondered how long it had lain there and how the wind hadn't blown it away already.

"Good. Where exactly is it?"

"On a canopy of a smith. Do you need the advertisement, too? 'The sturdiest armor you can find in Venice.' Everybody claims that, my friend," she finished more to herself.

Venerio turned into the direction they had come from and started walking confidently. Friendly, my ass. She gathered her dress and ran after him – again. Way too many times a day, in her opinion.

"We use various casual things to mark locations. If one of us is in a hurry because he has to get far, far away from somewhere, he just runs. After some time we lose our sense of direction. Then we search for these signs. Yellow flowers are everywhere around the outer part of the _Dorsoduro_ District. Chalk marks the outer part of _San Polo_."

"How did you know that we were in one of those districts?"

"I know the city. Because of various circumstances, only those two came into question." Various circumstances? Maybe he counted his footsteps whenever he left somewhere? Amazing deed to keep count until now. And an amazing deed to place such signs all across the city and remember them. The city is huge!And the flower is so small!

"What if someone destroy or picks your flowers or chalk signs?"

"We replace them regularly."

"Different things mark different districts then?"

"Different things mark different _parts _of districts. Like I said: the flower only marks the outer part of _Dorsoduro_." Holy shit.

It was a shorter trip back than the time she took to get to the balcony. Obvious reasons, really. She had to climb, didn't really plan where to go anyway and so on. Three hours it took then, one hour now. And all the while she and Venerio chatted a little. It was unusual because it came to be so suddenly but not bad. He told her about the various signs she could watch out for and she tried to remember them as much as possible, repeating them often like vocabulary in front of her teacher. What a day.

And still not over.

* * *

Upon entering the atelier, Miranda and Venerio found themselves in a mess. A real mess, worse than the usual. And the usual was pretty clean in the past weeks, since it was Miranda's job to clean and punch Leonardo on the fingers if he left a real mess like before. But everything seemed to be in vain now.

On the sofa lay two heavy looking chests, and scattered on the floor, wooden crates. Bottles, small instruments, papers were quickly shoved away by a Leonardo standing in the centre of it all.

"Uh, Leonardo…? What the hell are you doing?" she asked him slowly, dumb-founded. He looked up and a smile crept up his face, greeting her without words. He always seemed to have the beginning of a smile on his lips. That she liked.

"Miranda, Venerio, you have finally returned! Why are you wearing such clothes…?" he ended the greeting slowly and with big eyes.

"You will answer my question first, _Signore_. What. Are. You. Doing? What's this mess about?"

"I need to go to the court. To Pesaro." Didn't hear that one. Must have shown on her face. "Wait, you never said that. You said that you closed the shop because of the statue for the chapel nearby."

"Ah, yes. The messenger has arrived shortly after you left. It is an urgent call and the ship will leave this evening."

"You could have told me…" wait, no mobiles. Sometimes she tends to forget these things. "Am I coming, too?" She was his assistant officially, right? Where was Pesaro - was it far away if he travelled by ship?

"Ah, no. Ludovico did not hear that I have a new assistant yet. The ship ticket was only paid for one person. I just have to show him a few notes and ideas I've been working on. If he likes what he sees, I will get more material to work with. Nothing major, you won't miss anything out," he reassured her.

"Oh… what do I do then?" Better not leave the house. With her navigation system being in development…

"I think you'll do just fine. Antonio surely wouldn't mind watching over you for a week or two." He turned his attention to Venerio. Wait, why him? Why Antonio? That means…

"No, he surely wouldn't. I will contact him immediately." There was a smug grin on his face. Not good. Not good!

Venerio exited the room. Miranda looked at Leonardo in horror. "You won't see me again, Leonardo…" she dramatically said and hit her forehead with her palm. He laughed quietly, while she collected herself and prepared for a week of torture.

"What were you doing until now? And these clothes…"

"Doing, hm? Almost being hit by an arrow and almost drowning. Nothing much." She shrugged, smiling halfheartedly.

He let go of a crate filled to the brim with papers and a small balloon-like construct and it crashed down on the floor. "What?" The hefty reaction surprised her and she winced at the sudden noise of the crate. Before she knew it, Leonardo was right in front of her, his arms on her shoulders, a worried look on his face. "Are you hurt anywhere? What exactly happened?" Perplexed, she explained what had happened that day. From the balcony to escaping the guards until the nun and their new clothes.

"Just what were you doing on that balcony?" He shook his head as if saying 'not another one'.

"I was looking for… right, the feather!" She totally forgot about it. She rummaged through her bag and there it was! Not as beautiful as before but still quite something to look at. "I don't know why but I just wanted this feather… maybe you could use it?"

He suddenly looked very surprised. "That's an… eagle's feather." Oh, really?

"There are eagles here? Wow!" Not that she knew much about where birds flew around in their free time.

"Rarely…" He gave her a strange look. She cocked her to the side quizzically. "Thank you for bringing me this. You don't have to resort to such measures, though."

"Yeah, I've learned my lesson. It's just… the feather was practically calling for me. Don't know why I really did something like that. It's not something I tend to do, don't worry." She moved towards the crate he had dropped, planning to pick it up and stuff the papers back inside, when Leonardo stopped her.

"I don't want you to ruin your dress. You don't have to help…" He mustered her for a moment – he had done so a few times while listening to her story, too. She did look like a real woman of twenty-four years now and not like a boy anymore. What exactly did he see now? Wait, what are you thinking, Miranda?

She stretched and gathered her dress together. "Then I'll get changed. It's really tiring to walk in and it's waaaay to heavy, anyway."

Feeling self-conscious, she walked into the next room and upstairs, all the while imagining that he was looking after her. After what seemed an eternity she was freed of the dress. It was almost impossible to get out of it without help if not wanting to rip it in half. She lay the dress on the bed and gently traced the silk fabric. How could silk be so heavy? She saw little threads of silver across the pinned silk ends, cleavage and corset part. The Renaissance really had a knack for embroidery, no matter how small and not instantly visible. Main point: Details. Anything else does not work.

Two new bundles of clothes lay on her bed. Leonardo must've bought them today. She changed into the new dark green tunic that fit her perfectly and buttoned the golden-colored buttons up. Hm, some kind of store that didn't sell to wide things then? Nice. Even the brown pants almost fit her without a belt. The other bundle consisted of another white shirt, not much unlike the one she had gotten from Ezio, and real woman stockings and socks. New socks on, shoes and old clothes left in the bathroom to clean later and down she was!

"Thaaaaank you! They really fit!" she skidded to a halt and pointed at herself. She didn't feel as self-conscious as before, luckily. It could bring her into trouble if she continued to feel that way.

"I found a good tailor who makes manly clothes for women, too. Describing your form and with a little guessing and luck I found these in his repertoire. Next time I will take you there to get you something tailored for your size."

"No, no, no! That's too much! I don't mind if they're a bit too big."

"I have the money if that is worrying you. It isn't even that expensive."

Caught her there. She had never been too poor but she wasn't one to not be bothered by the price. "Uh, well… still… that's kind of extravagant. I've never had someone tailor me my clothes."

"Then it is time!" She laughed insecure and asked what should go where. She ended up pulling a chest closer to the L-Table, since there was something neatly packed into a crate and she wanted to put it inside.

A stack of parchment appeared in front of her eyes. Most of it was filled with curved, reverted letters but there was also a little draft at the upper right side of the parchment. A diving cylinder…? She just had to ask him how he got this idea and whether he tried it out. Diving would be interesting to do in summer. As a child she had done so and it had been really enjoyable. She still had a seashell that she found at home.

"If you ever want something, do not hesitate to ask me. Don't be concerned about money, as well. You are too wonderful a person." That was sudden and she closed her mouth, question long forgotten. Did she hear right? Her heart skipped a beat.

"What did I do to deserve this compliment?"

He smiled and pointed towards the bookshelves behind the L-Table. She followed his finger and the poor image of half of the flying machine leaning against the shelves filled her vision. One wing was intact and that if practically all that is left of it.

"I'm sorry for that… stupid Ezio doesn't know how to fly and now it's ruined and you have to start anew…" Her face showed the sadness she felt inside.

"You're _sorry?_ Miranda, I didn't even expect it to survive this mission! And less did I expect to see it again! I heard from a couple of annoyed and exhausted thieves who brought this back, that this was done because you requested it. This is why you are a wonderful person."

"That's the least that needed to be done. If they borrow something, they have to return it." That was very simplified but true. She knew that she had been a lot more angry when requesting it and with a few more reasons. _She_ would have been pissed if something she herself built had been destroyed to nothingness.

He laughed aloud and his blue eyes shone in delight. "Anyway, thank you," he reached out and placed his hand on the back of her head, then planted a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes widened in surprise. "But like I said: you don't have to resort to such measures."

He left to wrap a small movable figure of the human body into woolen fabric. Miranda touched her forehead cautiously and quizzically, before slowly continuing to squeeze everything considered a diving cylinder into the chest and trying to dismiss her beating heart.

* * *

Happy New Year everybody!

Got it out before the new year. Phew. Praise me!

Need to edit it a little but at least it is out. I find it quite funny that I accidentally sent Venerio and Miranda into Teodora's house and only now realized that it fit perfectly with the location. They really were in the _Dorsoduro _district. And this comment will stay this short because I'm not clearly here with my head. Enjoy the celebrations, whatever and wherever you may be doing!


	9. Chapter 9

_To warn you beforehand: there are three point of views in this chapter. I hope it is not too confusing to read. Also, I apologize for the first half of the chapter. I think it's extremely bad but I had no other idea as to what to do or change._

**I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.**

* * *

_Run, Miranda, run!_

She envied Forrest Gump and his sheer endless stamina. He could run and run forever, while she was near collapsing. Her feet felt leaden and she could barely raise them. Her nostrils widened to suck in as much air as possible, while her skin produced a considerable amount of sweat. Hair glued to her head, the ends weakly swaying with her movement. Breathing heavy and shallow.

_Huff, huff, huff…_

Miranda glanced over her shoulder but could not spot her pursuer in between the small crowd. She quickly averted her eyes back in front of her and just barely dodged running a dog over. The brown animal barked while she gave a hasty, breathless apology to its owner. There was no time to do anything else; she had to get back as fast as possible. There was no time wondering about looks or consequences, no time to think at all actually. Only time to adjust the basket filled with bread once again under her arm and worry about her whereabouts…

… and why it was always her that ended up in such situations.

Miranda frantically turned her head to the sides, looking for red ribbons, failing at spotting them. Was it red ribbons? Yes, it had to be. Her feeling told her that she was in the right place, anyway, so she dashed through the arched tunnel way to her left, once again looked back – and ducked!

Time slowed down as a hand brushed past the wet red strands of her hair when she moved to the ground. _Concentrate, _she reminded herself. Only she and her body had to matter now in her mind. Nothing else.

In a crouched position, Miranda quickly stepped out of range when she saw a foot closing in and Adrenaline instantly kicked in. The time returned, was passing faster than normal even, as was her thinking. _The bread! _ It needed to get out of the way! Miranda spurted towards a nearby table but he would not let her. He caught her free arm and yanked her back to him. She was halfway turned around when she saw his other fist lunge at her stomach. The basket fell to the ground as she used her hand to catch the blow.

Her eyes darted down fast enough to see the Venetian trying to trip her. Reacting, on the other hand, did not work as fast. She tripped over his leg while trying to dodge and they both stumbled to the ground.

She struggled to keep him off her, only seeing brown locks in front of her face, and succeeded in pushing him away from her. But her strength was drained and she couldn't get up and away fast enough. Clumsy and weak on her feet, which he exploited. He caught her leg with his again and made her trip another time. Her arms caught the rest of her body but they quickly gave away, sending her face straight to the ground and into dirt.

_Huff, huff, huff…_

Silence settled between them as he gave her a break, some time to think and collect herself. To even her breathing. In her stupid pride and not wanting to give in so easily, she rolled to the side, thinking of a counter attack. It was all in vain, though: he stomped down on her stomach, making her choke, and towered dangerously above her, his eyes darting across her face. For her, he was only a shadow against the grey sky. He was stronger. He was dangerous.

She was not the type to pay respect, though.

Miranda chomped him as hard as he could in the leg. He actually winced and released her.

"Ouch! That hurts," he cried out."What's that kind of attack called? 'Kill me right away?'" He bent down to help her up but she waved his hand away and lay flat on the ground, allowing herself to catch her breath unsteadily. To release the disgusting taste in her mouth, she spat on the ground. Nobody would mind hopefully. Especially not the cruel, dangerous, merciless evil behind this torture of a day: Venerio Tiepolo.

In fact Venerio handed her a bottle of water which she drank greedily. The last third she poured over her face, shivering at the sudden cold. Her body heaved up and down while Venerio sat beside her, his own water in his hands. He wasn't as finished like her but continuously running after and attacking a fast and stubborn woman for hours with only minor breaks let even him break out in sweat. These last few days had been a goddamn marathon for both of them. More so than expected.

It's been four days since Leonardo left for Pesaro. Yes, four days spent like _this_. Training with Venerio. She had no time to actually miss Leonardo in between cursing her trainer. Miranda got her confirmation, too: he is the very revengeful type. That is why she didn't want Leonardo to talk to Antonio – it would always end with Venerio. Always. She would have liked to crack some fake tears every now and then, hoping to be released that way. Problem was: she had no liquid to spare.

"And here I thought I had beaten those stupid ideas out of your head. Where did that last move come from…?" He asked after a couple of minutes.

"… Frustration," she managed to squeeze out. She groaned and looked to the cloudy sky, pointed her hand towards it. Venerio followed her arm. She had learned how capable his sight was, that he would see this movement. After a moment, though, he glanced back to her, eyebrows raised in anticipation. This part she tended to forget. He couldn't see the details and what exactly she was indicating.

"I think it's going to rain today. The clouds are getting thicker," she put her thoughts into words.

"Hm. I'm not in the mood to start a new lesson, so we may take a break. You will need to get new bread, though." She got away because he was too _lazy_? Not because of the rain? Cruelty! There were no words to describe this man.

"You know I can't move at all now? Also, I never agreed to your stupid idea with the bread! You forced me to!" He set her a race today. With a target. They bought bread at the far end of the city. With a head start, she had to return to the warehouse they had started at. Her only way of orientation? Those signs that thieves used. She had been utterly unprepared to say the least. How she managed to outrun him for more than an hour was beyond her - especially since his leg had healed by now. What Miranda clearly remembered on the other hand was that when he caught up to her and appeared behind every corner she wanted to take, it was _hell! _Every limb screamed that out.

"When hunger comes, you will eventually move." See what I mean with no words to describe his cruelty? The beaten woman almost wished the old Venerio back. The one that rarely spoke with Miranda. Not the one that knew how to retort.

"You're going to be my death…" she mumbled.

"Then it is a good death." A weak punch to his leg was the answer he received. Then an idea popped into her mind.

"You know, Venerio..." she started.

"_Sì?_"

"You may be sitting on my spat." He instantly jumped up, even before the last word had left her mouth. His hand moved to his rear, brushing across it, trying to clean his pants. She laughed. Laughed and laughed and until her sides hurt. He totally deserved it – and it felt too good anyway! As if he would have let the chance pass by if he were in her situation. He obviously realized what was going on by now.

"_Diavolo..._ (Devil)"

* * *

Humming quietly to himself and with a little bounce in his steps, Leonardo walked the crowded streets. The sun was slowly setting and the lamps on the streets were already lit. The small village shone in red and yellow colors, the sky merged orange and magenta with dark blue on the horizon, spotted with white dots all over. Magnificent.

Despite saying that he would return within the week, he was in no hurry if he could enjoy the view any further like this. It stirred something inside him, inspired him. He regretted not bringing more blank parchment with him. He also regretted actually not having enough time to draw the scenery, as Ludovico Sforza was too engrossed in his ideas and planning future needed inventions already. There was no escaping the man.

In two days he would be on his way back, though. Normally he would worry about having to clean up his atelier again and place everything at its rightful place this time around. But he wouldn't have to. He had Miranda. It was strange how she fit in, how he instantly thought of her when thinking of 'home'. How he felt warm when doing so.

A smile crept up his face. This was not a rarity but the warm feeling behind the smile was another kind of very pleasant one than behind others. It would be difficult to wipe this smile off, as his thoughts had to focus on the female for the next hour. She had asked him to buy suitable shoes for her – it was more than due –, so he did. He was here, looking for something her size.

A pale blue dress caught his eye and he stopped to muster it. The color was the same she had worn the he departed… this one was not as revealing as hers, though. Still, she had looked beautiful in it. Even more so because she usually wore concealing men's clothes. He stood for seconds, his mind weaving Miranda and this dress together, seeing her spin around in it. It was more proper, reaching the ground and the delicately woven-in roses around the décolleté spoke of a simple beauty.

Dismissing this line of thought, he continued on, down the street. A few stores later he thought he had found the shoes. A fine pair of leather boots. They weren't even too expensive, which seemed to bother her the most. Did she live in poverty before? The artist wondered whether he could ask her that. The torn feelings of what she should be saying or not were often visible in her face. With his success in front of Sforza, though, money mattered little now. He would get material as well. He had finished a few works earlier for this occasion, unusual for him but he wanted to have a secure base as that allowed him to work the freest.

Leonardo paid, thanked the shoemaker and readjusted his hat. A raindrop hit his hand and he looked up to see few lonely dark clouds plastered to the sky that he had overlooked before. He should hurry back to the estate but froze after taking two steps, contemplating his next action.

He turned around and went back to the store with the dress.

* * *

"Checkmate." Now this was ridiculous!

Venerio and she had been playing chess the whole time after they took a shower in the river (after a little more bickering, she ended up jumping into the water to escape him; he followed after realizing that it was most needed anyway) and got something to eat. They retreated in the temporary thieves' base that they had established two days ago in form of an abandoned warehouse. The same warehouse where they had started today.

How those two are capable of playing one (unexpectedly long) round of chess, some may ask. It's pretty simple. One only needs to adjust some things:

First, get the modern chess to this time. Miranda used the first eight letters and eight numbers to form a coordinate system that would help Venerio guide his minions. To victory even, which she had not planned.

Secondly, place two candles at the left and right side of the chessboard to enable maximum view. Try not to throw them over in frustration, please. That would result in pitch-black darkness not only for Venerio.

Third, force Venerio into playing with every possible means. From playing on his guilt to simply annoying him, everything was allowed. Even accomplices. Their clothes had to dry anyway, so he eventually agreed.

Also, yes, the order is just right like that.

Occasionally, Miranda would have to guide his hand or tell him the current situation of the game, giving him an overview. She had to so repeatedly but she didn't care, she was a fair player. Not at all a good one but fair alas! Thus having a blind man and a woman that was really bad at chess play for more than two hours was amazing and something rarely seen! They actually finished the game.

Now back to the cruel reality.

"_Te l'ho__ detto_ (I told you), you shouldn't have done that move two rounds ago. Would have saved you." Here speaks the annoyance.

"Ah, shut up, Franco. I'll get him on my own someday." She raised her hand to prevent Venerio from tidying their little battlefield and retraced her moves.

"If you say so." Miranda froze and looked up to them slowly. They actually said that simultaneously! Those little jerk brothers with their smug smiles.

"Pff. I'll not get provoked! I'm going home, it's time and I'm dry again."

"Why? Is my company that bad?" Franco wailed. He had watched and commented their whole match.

"I prefer your brother – and ask him how low _he_ is situated on my list. That's quite some achievement."

"Ouch. Women are always so capable of hurting men with their words." She flashed him a winning and smug smile of her own. "I'll escort you back, if I may. Can you take my post, little brother?" Venerio nodded absently and rearranged the figures. Franco went to the back of the dark building, hushing the three thieves hanging around with their card game and stole a blanket from one of them, resulting in a little jokingly yelling. Miranda only shook her head at the scene, a smile on her lips. It was amazing how fun everyone could be and how easily she fit 's as if she always belonged here.

A last waving and they were outside and with the blanket over their heads, they hurried to the atelier. It was a walk that would take about twenty minutes. Most of them would be in silence after an unexpected dialogue that would give Miranda a lot to think of for weeks.

"You know, Miranda… you are really good company," Franco began suddenly. Oh?

"What's this about?"

"Just thanking you, I think. It's the first time I have seen Venerio play chess."

"He knew the rules… I thought you played it with him before." She had expected that he never played and prepared on explaining the rules, when he had surprised her with his knowledge. She shrugged it off fast; this was Venerio they were talking about. The most awesome blind man in the world, in her opinion.

"I tried playing it with him many years ago… we never finished the game. Maybe it was too early then, I don't know. You are good for him." He smiled sincerely. She rarely saw him this serious.

"You really love him." A statement that was clear to both of them. There was nothing to argue about it.

He laughed and she half-expected the usual joke from him. What came instead surprised her. "I used to hate him." The conversation was over with this sentence.

Franco bid her goodbye eventually, saying to come over again the next day in his own way. A mix of flirting, mocking and something that could only be described with the word 'random'.

Going up the stairs to the second floor, she wondered about Franco and Venerio. She wondered what kind of life they had led. All of a sudden it occurred to her that no-one ever really thought of that when thinking of history. No, they did but in an emotionless way. Nobody saw living, breathing humans and tried to sympathize with them. When speaking of the past, everybody was detached. Long gone, dead. Why fill it with life and reason?

Just as she threw the blanket into the bathroom to wash it later, she heard loud banging. Her hackles rose up, philosophic thoughts lost. Since she was all alone as opposed to before, when she had Leonardo or Venerio, she was always a little anxious and edgy.

The woman calmly opened the door and was greeted by a bearded man with a package for Leonardo. Who would have guessed as this was his atelier. Her heartbeat slowed down and she told him politely that Leonardo was in Pesaro due work and that she was his assistant. He may leave the package with her. The courier regarded her with a long look before shoving her the package in the arms.

"I am from Monteriggioni." With these words he left, not even wanting a tip. Miranda was a little taken aback to put it nicely.

Monteriggioni? That rung some bells but she couldn't quite place a finger on it. She was certain that she had heard that name before – but where? It appeared to be important enough for the man to mention.

She shrugged it off after a while and locked the door. Maybe tomorrow would bring an idea. Placing the package in the living room upstairs, she readied herself for bed, playing with the thought of throwing her shoes away to escape training.

For the last four days, and even before, her shoes needed cleaning almost every evening and with worry and sadness she noticed that they were literally falling apart. They hadn't been new, over a year old and their time came. Another connection to the future lost. She sighed and hoped Leonardo would find something fitting. Miranda had asked him because she wasn't up to the task of bartering and telling the difference in quality. He had advised her to do so, to ask him for anything needed, the day he had kissed her on her forehead…

_Stop it,_ she thought and quickly hopped into her bed, banning the memory away. She could not stop wondering how he was, though. What was Pesaro like? Or Ludovico Sforza? Snuggled in her bed, her body relaxed very fast after this rough a days; her mind already on the brim of sleep, starting to fantasize… when she sprang out of bed and rushed through the door into the living room, barely avoiding hitting her room door.

She stumbled into the living room, only to stumble out again in search of something to light the candles. The faint sound of an autumn-like shower of rain hitting the ground, her own footsteps and the flickering of the finally lit flame were the only noises in the house when she quickly hurried across the wooden floor.

Carefully she opened the package. A scroll with a strange symbol embedded on it was neatly placed inside. The symbol looked like the latter 'A' without the horizontal line and more drawn than written. No, a staple remover was the better definition. That it was the wrong one was clear but the object fit a hundred percent with the symbol. She enrolled the scroll on the small table and studied it closely.

Row after row, letters had been written down on this scroll. Letters, not words, because she couldn't _find_ any words in this random assembly. Monteriggioni… come on, it had to be written down here somewhere! Looking further, she found something else instead, something she hadn't expected at all.

A picture could say more than thousand words. This was a picture of a gun. A small one with a strange form but a gun nonetheless. Other small pictures around it, something that looked like it could mean black powder amongst them. How did he get his hands on something like this? It was too early for guns, wasn't it? Moreover, the German invented black powder…

The roaring sound of thunder startled her. The room flashed red for the second the thunder lasted. The shadows grew longer and appeared more dangerous. Miranda's breathing quickened as she looked outside the window. There was only a drizzle outside, no signs of incoming thunderstorms. The roll escaped her shaking fingers and she had to force her eyes away from the window, ignoring the fact that she had seen every raindrop in full detail for the seconds her eyes had been glued to the night sky.

Miranda rolled the scroll back together but as she was about to return it to its place, her heart beating furiously, a folded paper that had lain hidden beneath it caught her eye. Swallowing once, she folded it open, curiosity winning over her fear. There was very little written on it:

_A kiss on a woman's cheek. A lonely bed. What if night falls? E._

What was this about? It sounded a little poetic but not enough to convince her. She knew exactly where this came from – there was only one man she knew would write something about women and beds. Ezio Auditore, the disappearing assassin. Monteriggioni had come up in a conversation once. It was the place where Ezio's villa stood and the name of the whole village he was rebuilding.

She stared at the strange sentences and tried to piece everything together. Ezio sent Leonardo papers about a gun. Most likely how to build it, which Leonardo would be able to, definitely. She couldn't decipher it but it had to be that way. The letters made no sense at all to… of course! The scroll is coded! His message, too! Maybe if she sat down long enough she could think of how to solve this riddle.

Another thunder flashed, plunged the room in red again but she tried to ignore the strange phenomenon as good as possible, fastening her eyes to the scroll and letter in her hands, gulping again; her joy of discovery damped by a lot.

She did not know that this was only the beginning…

* * *

He licked across her tanned skin and she mewled beneath his touch. The soft rattling of chains that bound her arms to the bed sounded with every small movement, with every whimper that escaped her mouth. It was music in his ears and he already felt the heat rush to his loins. He was looking forward to this night.

She was his favorite. Ready for everything and very eager and creative. On top of that, a beauty; the way she lay naked beneath him, moving her body in an entrancing rhythm on the silken blankets and pillows. He nestled with the belt to his pants when somebody knocked on the door.

"_Messer _Baseggio." He groaned annoyed, not wanting to leave her but forced to, and indicated the pouting woman that he would return as quickly as possible. This man better bring good news. He exited the room and they went to the end of the floor, to a window. His thoughts still stayed with his little pet and the whoring sounds out of other rooms did their best to keep them in that direction.

"Talk," he ordered. The face hidden beneath the helmet but he knew exactly the man swallowed twice before speaking. He had been long enough under his care for him to be able to know that.

"They are hiding out at an abandoned warehouse. Not all of them, rarely more than ten at a time. Tiepolo among them."

The commander of the guard stayed still, his eyes absent and cold as he looked out into the rainy night, not acknowledging its existence at all.

"We should give them a little surprise. You shall return to your post immediately. You will be highly rewarded for this." The man nodded and bowed slightly before turning around and going where he came from, his armor clanking with each step.

The rain continued to pour down the window, barely making a noise on impact. A hundred raindrops hitting the window.

A hundred raindrops reflecting an evil smile.

* * *

God, this chapter is way too short and way too bad. And I even added some more drama, some better scenes (which I had intended to do later). Reviews motivated me into doing this kind of thing but that it would still be like this... I'm kind of shocked. The length is really annoying me the most. Anyhow, I had no right feeling when writing this chapter. I knew what I wanted to write but the words didn't connect as good this time if it's understandable. Ah, it'll get only better from here on, I hope! Also, I'm one hour past 31st January - my personal deadline... but not in all countries! So, I'll just think that I released it on time. I'll correct spelling mistakes later.

I'm trying my best with hints all over the place, throughout the story. About the romance, about the storyline or some 'arcs'. Soon you'll have some major scenes, the ones you were waiting for, yes, yes. Some I'm looking forward to very much! That sounds like much... god, I really tend to go off on too many tangents.

I also wanted to say that the kind of blindness Venerio has, really exists. I don't have an idea what it is called I only have a story, an experience with it. Our school manages an exchange with Milan. I did not participate but friends of me. One of the Italian exchange partnes got blind a short time before the exchange but still insisted on coming to Germany. Her condition is the same as I described in the story: she can see schemes. It came all of a sudden and nobody knows how or why. So yeah, it's not a lie to fit the story. Otherwise I wouldn't have had made him blind. Period.


End file.
